


And I Will Sing a Song for You

by stardropdream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotional Constipation, Episode Related, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Victor keeps looking for the Yuuri he met in Sochi in the Yuuri he's getting to know in Hasetsu.  They speak in a coded language - and Victor can only hope that Yuuri understands him.I love katsudon,he tells Yuuri and hopes that Yuuri knows what he means, hopes they are both thinking of that same night together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a few requests for Victor's POV on my [last story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9783134), and so here is the promised fic! And because it moves from Yuuri to Victor's POV, of course suddenly it's almost exactly five thousand words longer because somebody is Extra. Like the last fic, this one takes place around eps 3 and 4. 
> 
> Mostly I wanted to make sure this fic could work as a stand-alone (so reading the other fic isn't necessary!) but also didn't just retell all the same scenes, so there's some things featured in this fic that weren't in the last one, and vice versa. I hope you enjoy!

“I can go again, if you’d like,” Yuuri says – soft above him, still so uncertain. Victor pauses before looking up – knows that when he does, Yuuri’s eyes will shy away. Victor’s currently stooped down, kneeling at the edge of the ice and tightening up his skate laces. Yuuri stands above him, a skittish bundle of nervous energy. 

Victor takes a slow breath and then tilts his head up, looking up at Yuuri through the fringe of his hair. As predicted, Yuuri’s cheeks flush and he glances away from Victor, his eyes skittering around Ice Castle before he forces his eyes back on Victor. The entire time, Victor just studies his face and waits. 

It’s so strange, he thinks absently. Yuuri Katsuki swept him off his feet, figuratively and literally – just a few months ago now, and yet it feels a world away. It’s so strange, Victor thinks – the way that Yuuri demands his attention, draws everyone’s eyes to him through the shift of his body, that creation of music. It’s so strange, to think of that night at the GPF banquet, Yuuri babbling so loudly and freely in Japanese, slurred and unrecognizable. But Victor hadn’t needed to know Japanese to see the way Yuuri stared at him with such a penetrating gaze, how he’d clung to him, flung the English around in slurred, flirtatious temptation. Victor knows he’ll never forget that night. 

And now here Victor is, kneeled down and looking up at Yuuri – and Yuuri can hardly look at him in return. It’s strange to think how easily Victor fell into Yuuri’s orbit, and now Yuuri seems determined to not care, to not seem at all excited for Victor’s presence. 

Still, Victor mulls over Yuuri’s words, the way he fidgets as the considering silence stretches between them. Victor doesn’t break his eyes away – knows he can’t look away from Yuuri, even when he’s like this, so different but still someone he wants to know. The first few nights here, stung with disappointment at Yuuri’s distance, Victor decided to himself that he could play Yuuri’s game. He could do that. 

Whatever it was that Yuuri wanted to do, he’d do it. Even if it meant never mentioning their night together, even if it meant that Yuuri had changed his mind about him – that he didn’t want him anymore. Victor didn’t fly all the way to Japan with his dog and all his possessions just to turn away and go back to Russia, defeated. At the end of the day, Victor was a competitor. He could compete. 

Victor thinks of the series of side sequences Yuuri has been practicing, his figure-eights and weave-betweens. There’s sweat at Yuuri’s temple, a slight sheen on his neck that Victor stares at as Yuuri swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. Victor thinks to himself that he’d like to lick that bead of sweat from his cheek.

Instead he says, “One more try and then start your cool down.” 

Yuuri is off with a scrape of his blades against the ice and Victor leans back against the blocks, watching him. Yuuri runs through a series of side sequences, his arms flowing, his body poised – and it’s beautiful. In this, Yuuri can make it look so effortless, as easy as breathing – the flow of music coursing through his body, created by his body. Victor will always be in awe of that. 

He likes to think that the small curve of Yuuri’s back, the jut of his hips as he works through some spins is entirely for Victor’s benefit, knows that if he were to point it out, Yuuri would only get flustered. There’s something endearing about it, at least, although it’s hardly what he’d expected coming to Hasetsu. 

In such a short time, Yuuri has done nothing but surprise him – the banquet is one thing. But seeing the way Yuuri performed _Stay Close to Me_ is another entirely. Victor never knew it could look like that – raw, open. Even when skated by a skater several pounds too heavy, quads switched to triples, in a small little rink without an audience, without _music_. 

Unrefined by all accounts, but still beautiful – still breathtaking. Yuuri is breathtaking. 

Yuuri surprises Victor even now – that distance, that shying away. But the way Yuuri looks at him sometimes, like he wants to close that distance, like he doesn’t realize that Victor is here, waiting—

Yuuri surprises Victor even now. 

Surprises him more and more – the craft of his step sequences, the way his body flows with the hints of music from that night, the way he leaves Victor reeling and longing. 

Victor watches Yuuri for a moment longer – could watch him forever –before he’s interrupted by the louder, angrier scrape of blades as Yuri Plisetsky barrels closer and demands his attention. He wants to keep practicing his jumps, his choreography. But Victor smiles pleasantly, amused as always by his demands, and sets him off on his cool down, as well. 

 

-

 

For all he’s built Yuuri up to be something beautiful, something mysterious – a playboy who swept him off his feet all those months ago – for all the time spent away that Victor was left in longing, left to know that the feeling growing in his gut was something effervescent and wonderful, something like love—

For all of that, the first moment that Victor knows, without a doubt, that he is in love with Yuuri quite irrevocably is when Yuuri sneezes. 

Victor, startled that something so sweet and so human could burst out of Yuuri so suddenly, watches as Yuuri flushes his embarrassment, halfway between warming up, Yurio already out on the ice doing a series of spins and looking relatively smug. 

Victor looks at him in quiet shock. He’s built Yuuri up to something so tragically beautiful, so perfectly far away from him yet just within reach. A playboy who breaks hearts, a skater with beautiful step sequences, a man who keeps drawing Victor closer and closer. 

A man who sneezes rather sweetly. 

“Bood' zdorov,” Victor says with quiet wonder, can’t help but smile wider as Yuuri blushes. 

“Excuse me,” Yuuri mumbles, blushing as he rubs at his cheek, not looking at Victor. 

“If the pig gets sick, I win by default!” Yurio calls out as he spins to a stop, hands on his hips and his mind always situated so fully in the upcoming _Onsen on Ice._

Yuuri’s smile is soft with warmth and amusement as he looks over at Yurio – a soft, far away gesture, a look he’s never cast towards Victor. He tells Yurio, “It’s nothing like that. Don’t worry!” 

“Who said I was worried?” Yurio shouts back. 

Somehow it is this moment that solidifies it for Victor – who smiles helplessly at Yuuri, his heart overfull just with something so tiny, something so insignificant. Victor doesn’t even wonder at the thorough lack of dramatics this moment elicits in Victor. It’s a quiet, sure thing – something that blooms in his heart and roots itself there, never to be removed. 

 

-

 

The morning of _Onsen on Ice_ , Victor spends the early hours taking Makkachin for a walk. It’s a bright, sunny day and the salt on the air and the wind in his hair reminds him both of St Petersburg and achingly of just Hasetsu. He has only known it for a short time, but he already finds it unique – the people kind even when he can’t understand a word of their language, the food delicious, the architecture distinctive, and Yuuri—

And Yuuri. 

Yuuri, who seems content to pretend that the night of the banquet never happened. Yuuri, who has left Victor with his heart twisted up for months now. Yuuri, who is stunning on the ice, if only he would believe it. Yuuri, who inspired the dance he’ll skate today. Yuuri. Yuuri.

Victor smiles to himself, quiet and pleased, kneeling down to scritch behind Makkachin’s ears, then down over his muzzle and under his chin. There’s grey in his fur now, but only just. Makkachin beats his tail in a steady thump on the ground, tongue lolling out – and Victor’s heart warms for this simple moment, too – simple and small and hardly anything at all, but still impossibly precious to Victor. Makkachin puts his paw on Victor’s knee, huddles up closer to him – and like so many times before, Victor curls his arms around his precious dog, holds him and drags his nails along the ridge of Makkachin’s spine, finding that spot at the center between his shoulder blades that Makkachin always likes Victor to scratch. He gives a soft _whuff_ of happiness as he flops against Victor. 

It’s a lovely day and despite the small ache in his heart, Victor finds himself excited, finds himself actually happy. 

 

-

 

It’s still a little arresting to see his old costume in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri’s costume now. Victor watches him, quiet, as Yurio and Yuuri unpack their supplies in the locker room before _Onsen on Ice._ Truthfully, Victor’s eyes are mostly on Yuuri, on the way he glances over towards Victor and then looks away again, the way he unzips his bag and draws out the mesh and spandex ensemble. 

Yuuri glances at Victor again and then looks away again. It’s a repetitive motion that Victor knows well – knows exactly how long Yuuri will look at him before looking away. How long it’ll take for him to glance back at him again. It’s like clockwork, although Victor still can’t place the reason for the routine, for this artifice. 

Yuuri removes his glasses and slides them into a case. He doesn’t glance at Victor again, fiddling with the zip of his bag. The costume lies out on the bench beside him, the lights in the ceiling casting sparkles off the crystals sewn into the material. 

Yurio says something disparaging as he unpacks his supplies, too, kicking his bag off the bench as he sits down and stars smoothing out the literal ruffled feathers of his own outfit. 

Victor smiles at both Yurio and Yuuri pleasantly, stepping out of the room to give them their privacy to change into their costumes. He waits outside in the hallway, humming to himself pleasantly, his body buzzing with expectation and anticipation. 

He waits a few minutes before he knocks and renters, letting the door swing open slowly just in case neither is ready for him. The atmosphere has shifted since he’s left, nervous energy and competition blooming between the two. 

Yurio is waiting with his arms crossed and jerks his chin back. “Zip me up,” he demands. “I can’t reach.” 

Victor laughs and wanders over towards him, twirling his fingers in a circle to indicate Yurio should turn around. He brushes aside Yurio’s hair with a pleasant hum and zips Yurio up easily. He fits nicely into the old outfit, and it’s a wonder to Victor that he could ever have been as small as Yurio is now. It seems so long ago now. 

“You better go get warmed up,” Victor tells him and Yurio rolls his eyes so dramatically that it’s instantly clear it’s meant to be seen, and seen by Victor. 

“As if I don’t know that,” Yurio barks, already tossing his bag into an empty locker as he heads towards the entrance to the rink to warm up and practice last minute jumps. “Better hurry up, Pig, if you want a chance at beating me!” 

Victor turns towards Yuuri – and finds Yuuri looking at him. Victor’s smile takes on a slightly brittle feeling, seeing Yuuri in his old costume for the first time. He hasn’t seen the costume since he wore it himself, over ten years ago. Strange to think of it so long ago now, worn by a child who was still growing into his body – how different it looked then from now, on an adult’s body: the way it slides across Yuuri’s chest, his hips, his arms. Completely different. 

“Do you need me to zip you up, too?” Victor asks, voice gentle, looking at Yuuri carefully – drinking him in, the way Yuuri squints a little in the light, trying to make out Victor’s face without his glasses on. 

Yuuri’s cheeks turn pink and he glances down and then away, as always. Victor is patient, waiting. He must count it as progress. After all, Yuuri doesn’t scramble to get away from being in Victor’s space now. He doesn’t run away from Victor now, shouting out a quick denial to Victor’s request before Victor can fully ask it. 

Instead, Yuuri glances up at him, then back down. And then he turns around, exposing his unzipped back. The stretch of the fabric across his back, the dip of his skin revealed from the zipper, diagonal and designed to be hidden in the spandex, so as not to disturb the mesh. Victor traces the lines of Yuuri’s muscles at his back, the flex of his shoulders as he moves his arms, fiddles a little, adjusts. 

Victor approaches him before Yuuri can change his mind and skirt away from his touch. Reaches out and lays his hands on Yuuri’s back. His skin is as soft as Victor remembers – that night, so long ago now, when Yuuri touched him and danced with him, his skin shining with sweat and champagne and the soft incandescent lights above them. 

Touching him now is thoroughly indulgent, and he regrets it if only because he feels Yuuri tense up, his shoulders going rigid – knows he has made him uncomfortable again. He doesn’t know why it should, only knows that it does. 

He drops one hand away, moves the other to thumb at the zip of Yuuri’s new costume. He takes a deep breath. It is difficult, sometimes, to be so far away from Yuuri – to want so desperately to touch him and have to be denied. But he isn’t a teenager anymore, absurd in his desires and unable to stomach some self-denial. And so he zips up Yuuri slowly, lingering – but respectfully, not letting his touch drag out. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmurs, once Victor has zipped him up. Victor’s fingers still press the zip’s tab between thumb and forefinger, not wanting to let go. He fumbles for half a moment, then tucks the zipper into the hidden flap of spandex to conceal it from sight, completely the image of Yuuri in his costume – skin-tight, curving, breathtaking. 

This close, Victor can glance over Yuuri’s shoulder and see the way Yuuri breathes, the way his skin looks beneath the mesh – the line of his ribs, the cut of one hip, the hint of a belly button not quite hidden by the spandex portion of the costume. 

Yuuri glances up at him, and this close, Yuuri’s eyes are focused on him – and such a beautiful color, and so intense beneath that anxiety. Yuuri bites his lip and it just makes Victor zero in on his mouth. Victor looks at him for a moment, flickering between his eyes and his mouth. 

And then he smiles pleasantly, and takes a step back and away from Yuuri, creating that breath of space. Yuuri watches him go, his expression unreadable. 

“Oh,” Victor says, light, already kneeling down. “Now your skates—”

But Yuuri’s face blooms up with red, and he scurries away from Victor, shaking his head and saying, a little too loudly, “I can tie them myself!” 

Victor stops and then straightens again. His smile is pleasant enough as he smiles at Yuuri and nods his head. Yuuri glances away, sitting down on the bench and fiddling with his laces. Victor watches him, and doesn’t look away when Yuuri glances up at him uncertainly. Their eyes catch and hold – and for half a moment, Yuuri doesn’t look away from him, studying him. 

“It’s almost time,” Victor tells him, takes in Yuuri’s image again – his hair slicked back, eyes squinting a little. The curve of his body inside of the costume. The surety of his hands on his skates. The way he stares at Victor now –a strange glimmer from their time together at the GPF banquet. 

So long ago now, so different from this. Yuuri’s gaze could be bold on anyone else, but like this, with his eyes shifting away and back towards Victor’s face, his cheeks pink, Victor isn’t sure what Yuuri is thinking. He’s never known anyone to possess such shyness alongside such confidence, such demanding of attention. Victor can never look away. 

“We should go,” Victor tells him, gentle, and lets Yuuri lead the way out of the locker room. 

 

-

 

Yuuri doesn’t notice Victor approaching him when it’s his turn to skate. He wonders if Yuuri even watched Yurio’s presentation of _On Love: Agape_ , or if he’s been lost in his thoughts this whole time. Yuuri’s hunched over, shoulders rigid, his lungs flaring with rapid, hurried breaths. His face is buried in his hands and Victor stops in front of him, quiet for a moment. When Yuuri doesn’t move, Victor shifts a little closer. 

“Yuuri,” he says, but Yuuri doesn’t respond. Victor waits a moment, then says, “It’s your turn, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri snaps his head up then, staring at him with wide eyes – taken aback to see Victor there. Yuuri covers his mouth as he makes a soft sound of surprise, and Victor keeps smiling at him – hoping to reassure, hoping to encourage. Yuuri must be nervous, but—

“Um,” Yuuri says quietly, looking at him – his hair slicked back, his costume clinging to him, his eyes steadying after a moment to focus just on Victor’s face. 

In the flash of one blink, Victor witnesses Yuuri transform. 

“I’m going to become a tasty katsudon,” he says, bold now, staring straight at Victor despite the worry making his entire body rigid, nothing like the musicality of his skating and yet – something. “So please keep your eyes only on me.” 

Victor feels a small shiver creep up his spine, and before Victor can respond, Yuuri steps forward – smoother now, betraying nothing of the rigidity of his body, a hint of that musicality transforming his movements – and sweeps his arms around Victor, clinging to him tight. Victor stills, then breathes out – calm – as Yuuri holds tight to him, grasping at his coat. 

“Promise,” Yuuri demands – and there is that glimmer again, the shadow of the man he’d met that night at the banquet, sweeping him off his feet, leaving Victor breathless and longing for months. 

“Of course,” Victor replies, his voice a soft breath, his voice weighted with far more meaning than he might have meant to – emphasizing, begging in his own way for Yuuri to understand, to move into his space like this again, “I love katsudon.” 

_I love katsudon,_ he says, hopes that Yuuri knows what he means. Hopes that Yuuri is thinking of that night they spent together, dancing, laughing – Victor, feeling more alive than he has in years. He hopes that Yuuri knows, hopes that Yuuri can hear it. _Why else would I be here, if not for you? Why else—_

Yuuri steps away from him and steps onto the ice, the skid of his skates across the ice crisp in Victor’s ears. He watches Yuuri more towards the center of the rink. Victor watches him go, hands on the boards – just watches. Watches for the man who first seduced him, for the man he’s longed for these last few months. 

Victor takes his place to watch – so he watches. 

Yuuri takes his pose, hip swaying out. Victor watches. The guitar strums fill the air and Yuuri moves his arms, moves his body. Victor watches. Victor watches as, in that moment, Yuuri transforms again – moves from shyness to confidence, locks eyes with Victor from across the span of ice, mouth tilting up into a smile. A slow, sensuous curve – embodiment of _On Love: Eros._ Flashing back to Sochi. 

And Victor watches. 

It’s hardly a perfect performance – Victor tallies up the errors as they occur, but more than anything, he is swept up with Yuuri’s performance, couldn’t possibly tear his eyes away. 

He promised not to look away from him and so he doesn’t, following Yuuri’s path across the ice. His musicality is sweeping, flowing smoothly – the curve of his hips, the glide of his hands through the air, the tilt of his head as he spins. His step sequences, as always, are stand-out. The spins and jumps need work, but Victor is more swept up with the way Yuuri moves. This performance threatens to shove him back to Sochi – to that night. The choreography and performance are different, though – Victor can see that Yuuri has changed it, made it less aggressive and more inviting. They’re subtle changes, but Victor sees them. 

Somehow, the change – subtle though it is – is enough to set Victor on edge in the best way, to make him feel warm all over. His lips part a little, his breath leaving him in quiet exhales as he watches Yuuri move, his body thrumming with the strums of the guitar, the burn of Yuuri’s eyes. He hopes that Yuuri can feel Victor’s gaze on him – hopes Yuuri knows he isn’t looking away. 

He isn’t quite aroused, but his body is keyed and aware – hears the music through his own body, like it is his own. It’s not surprising – up until a few weeks ago, this routine was his. He’d agonized between this and _Agape_ , unsure which to choose. 

But it fits on Yuuri. It isn’t that Yuuri makes it look effortless. The opposite. He can see the way Yuuri’s body heaved through that routine, tired and breathless in its aftermath – but in the process, stealing the breath from everyone else. Everyone is watching. No one can look away. 

This routine suits Yuuri best, better than it ever could have suited Victor. Yuuri, who moves and seduces, who is so shy most of the time and skirts so far away from Victor, but like this – like this, Yuuri is—

Yuuri throws his arms out, casting aside, and then wraps his arms around himself, spinning to a halt in his final pose, his face flush, his body heaving with his breath. Victor feels overfull in that moment, brimming over. He hasn’t even realized yet that Yurio is gone, his eyes trained solely on Yuuri – his arms flying up above his head as he calls out to him, for him to come closer. 

 

-

 

He feels Yuuri’s eyes on him during their short walk home. The sun is hanging low over the horizon, nearly set now, and the crowds have cleared away. 

“Ah,” Victor says, soft, before they head out for the night form Ice Castle. “Yurio got to the airport alright.” 

“Did he send you a text?” Yuuri asks, zipping up his bag with his skates and sliding it up over his shoulder. He keeps glancing at Victor in little bursts, as if Victor will not notice. 

“No,” Victor laughs, the very idea of that laughable. “He posted a selfie to his Instagram. He seems to be in alright spirits, considering.” 

He shows the picture to Yuuri of Yurio sprawled out on a seat in the airport, slouching and scowling at the camera with a disparaging hashtag directed towards Victor in its caption. Yuuri hums, brow furrowing. 

“I’m glad he got there safely,” he murmurs, voice light and far away. 

They walk home mostly in silence, passing over the bridge as the stars start dotting the eastern sky where it is darker. Victor smiles a little at the unfamiliar sky, at the strange poetic feeling of looking at an unfamiliar sky and feeling no fear. Yuuri is quiet beside him, but when Victor traces the arc of the stars, he can feel Yuuri gazing at him instead. Victor doesn’t say anything, just contents himself with Yuuri’s silence – he’ll speak if he wishes to speak. 

Absently, Victor says, “You changed some of the moves today.” 

Yuuri is quiet for a moment and Victor can hear him shifting beside him. His words are soft, curling through the air between them. 

“… Yes.” There is a long silence and Victor looks from the stars and out towards the seascape of Hasetsu’s ocean, past the bridge. There are little lights out there, distant fishing boats. Yuuri asks, tentative, “Did you like it?” 

“Mm,” Victor hums, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a quiet smile. There’s so much more he could say, so much more he could put to words. But the truth is, Victor isn’t sure what to say. He liked it. He liked it before, too. Mostly, he liked Yuuri making it his own, leaving Victor to try to translate what the changes might mean between them. But he’s already decided to play Yuuri’s game. 

Quieter words pass between them, passing thoughts and questions. They settle on the hot springs for the evening and once they’re settled back in the inn, then in the springs themselves, Victor still feels Yuuri’s eyes on him. 

He feels warmed in the cool spring air with the knowledge of Yuuri’s sights set on him. There’s something overwhelming but reassuring about being the subject of such close scrutiny. He feels Yuuri’s eyes on him as they finish up a meal, as they head upstairs towards Victor’s guest room, and Yuuri’s room further down the hall. The entire time, Victor is cognizant of Yuuri’s long silences – the way his expression flickers away when Victor glances at him, only to snap back onto him once Victor looks away, too. 

It’s strange to see this shy Yuuri now, after his performance today. But it feels different now, too. Expectation. A sort of waiting that will have an end. Buzzed with something different, something low and unsaid hiding beneath the surface. Victor isn’t sure what Yuuri is thinking – has found, over the last few weeks, that Yuuri can be difficult to read, when he’s like this. So he waits. 

Yuuri’s eyes are dark and warm when he reaches the door to Victor’s bedroom. Victor turns towards Yuuri. Yuuri’s been trailing after him, watch him still – he can feel that weight on his back. Victor towels his hair dry, absently, and watches the way Yuuri’s eyes flicker down towards the collar of Victor’s robe, his neck. 

“Well, you should rest,” Victor tells him, smiling. “You’ll have a big day tomorrow.” 

Yuuri nods a little, but he’s still looking at Victor. Victor waits, patiently, to see if he’ll speak what’s been on his mind ever since they’ve left the ice. He finds himself waiting for it – craving it, really. Wanting to know what it is that Yuuri isn’t saying, what’s swirling in his thoughts behind those dark eyes, pinning Victor to the spot. Victor is not used to being patient. 

But they part ways instead, Yuuri finally slanting his eyes past Victor and heading towards his bedroom. For one wild moment, Victor thinks to follow him – and knows he won’t. 

Victor’s the one to watch him go now, and he doesn’t call out – just turns back towards his room and enters it. Makkachin isn’t in his usual spot and Victor reminds himself to go fetch him from downstairs once he’s ready for sleep and wants him there in the bed with him. For now, he finishes drying off his hair, his thoughts absent and his movements unhurried. 

It’s been a long day, but a productive one. Yuuri’s victory today solidifies Victor as his coach, and Victor’s glad for it, glad for a reason to get to stay here in Hasetsu, to work with Yuuri. Glad that Yuuri could win him, effectively. 

His body still feels warm from the performance today, the way Yuuri moved, the way he created music—

Victor smiles to himself, brushing his hair from his eyes, his cheeks warm with thoughts of Yuuri. Despite its many technical flaws, it’d been a good first performance – and it only meant that Yuuri would improve as they continued their work. Victor feels more excited for _On Love: Eros_ than he thought possible – far more than when Victor was practicing it for himself. There’s a certain thrill to think of himself as a coach, to think of himself as _Yuuri’s_ coach. That he’ll be able to tease that Eros out of him, to tease Yuuri up to his full potential, that he can help guide him through that. Being a coach is a challenge Victor willingly jumps into. He always was good at jumping, after all. 

He’s looking forward to this season more than he ever thought possible, can’t remember the last time he’d felt this thrilled at the prospect of the journey. He doesn’t want to lose this feeling – fuzzy and warm and bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. He wants to start practicing _now_ , wants to drag Yuuri back towards the ice just to watch him move, just so he can move with him. He wants—

The door to his guest room slams open and Yuuri comes flying in with a strained, “ _Victor!_ ” 

Victor startles a little, his heart leaping up into his throat in surprise before he turns around towards Yuuri, his eyes wide. There is one wild, stilled moment when Victor worries that something has happened – and then he catches sight of Yuuri’s face and his heart speeds up for another reason entirely. Yuuri slides his door shut with a decisive snap and move towards him, with strength in his stride, his eyes zeroed in on Victor’s face and unwavering. 

“Yuuri, what—” Victor whispers, hushed, his breath rushing into him, his heart leaping up in anticipation and—

And then Yuuri stumbles a step and lurches to a halt. It’s amazing to see that shift in Yuuri’s expression – the way he goes from eros, seduction, predatory desire to shy and flustered in the switch of one second. Victor feels abruptly and senselessly at a loss, lost out to sea in front of Yuuri. But his heart keeps hammering. The air is still between them. 

He is suddenly, achingly glad he did not leave the room to fetch Makkachin. 

Yuuri ducks his head down, not looking at him. As always. Always. And yet—

His face is entirely red, even his ears. It’s overwhelmingly sweet. And he’s here. In Victor’s room. 

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, quieter now – and before he can think to stop himself, he reaches out and touches Yuuri’s arm, hopes he won’t snatch it away, hopes that Yuuri is really here, hopes that Yuuri—

Yuuri doesn’t move, staring down at their feet before he heaves in a sharp breath and lets it back out again. A quiet moment passes. Then, Yuuri looks up at Victor, slow at first, and then just looks at him as he’s been doing all day, for weeks now. Just looking at Victor – studying him closely. Under such intense scrutiny, Victor feels at once exposed and seen, delights in it and almost recoils from it. He isn’t used to such scrutiny – not like this. He is used to being seen. He is used to being watched. He is used to so many eyes on him. But this – this is different. There’s the thrill of it – the man at the banquet, so many months ago, saw straight through him, moved into his life so seamlessly, saw him beyond just the gold medal and saw someone yearning to move, to laugh, to _live_ , to—

Like this now, he feels that Yuuri must understand him, must know everything that Victor has done, everything he would do – for Yuuri. Under such an intense look, there’s no way that Victor could be misunderstood. 

Victor realizes he’s waiting, knows _what_ he’s waiting for only once he sees Yuuri lift his hand and touch Victor’s neck. 

Yuuri’s fingers touch the stray droplets streaming down Victor’s neck from his hair, still damp from the hot spring. Victor knows he isn’t breathing, knows he’s stopped breathing since the moment Yuuri moved towards him. His mouth parts a little, and he stays calm only because he is holding himself so still – terrified of making Yuuri bolt, terrified that Yuuri will disappear. He’s here. He’s right here. 

Yuuri’s thumb traces up the line of Victor’s neck. His eyes are so focused, warm and pupils blown why, and Victor can’t look away from him. He holds himself so still, just lets Yuuri touch him, his entire body aching to reach out and drag Yuuri to him. He wonders if Yuuri can feel his heart pounding like this, fingers so close to his pulse. Wonders if Yuuri can tell how desperately he’s wanted his touch, how desperately he’s been waiting for this—

Yuuri’s gaze is so intense, his eyes dark but warm in the dim light, and Victor wants to lose himself in it. Wants Yuuri to touch him and never let him go. All these words clump up in his throat, unexpressed but, he hopes, equally felt. Distant strings to distant songs, the turn of the skates, a combination spin. Or—

The thought solidifies in his mind like that – please let Yuuri touch him forever, please let Yuuri never move away from him – just as Yuuri drops his hand away. Victor doesn’t know if he makes a sound, only knows that he jerks forward and grasps Yuuri’s hand. He breathes out in a rush when Yuuri lets him lift his hand, press it back to his neck, presses helplessly, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, unaware of his body, unsure how to move properly – wanting Yuuri to feel his pulse, to cup his jaw, to touch his shoulder. To just touch him. To do everything and anything at once. Wanting so much at once and unsure how to start, unsure how to sort through it all. 

All he knows is that Yuuri is here. Yuuri is touching him. Yuuri is looking at him. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers when Yuuri looks up at him – when their eyes lock and hold. He watches, mesmerized, as Yuuri’s eyes fall shut, how he breathes in for a moment, and then shifts his hand into Victor’s hair – pulling him down. 

“Kiss me,” Yuuri tells him and Victor has wanted nothing more, in any moment of his life, than to obey—

He cups Yuuri’s face and lurches forward. 

“ _Yuuri,_ ” he whispers out, tries to convey everything in his name – knows that he has done nothing but say Yuuri’s name in the last few moments and yet, and yet – and kisses him fully on the mouth, eager and desperate to obey that command, eager and desperate to hold him, to kiss him – has wanted nothing more than to kiss him for months, has been longing for it, has been _pining_ for it, somewhat embarrassingly. And now—

Now he kisses Yuuri because it is the only thing he can do – there is nothing else for him, he does not know how to breathe, does not know how to move. And he makes a soft sound when Yuuri curls his hand tight in his hair, cups his neck. He didn’t realize how keenly he’s wanted this until he has it – hasn’t realized, until now, how much he’s been thinking about holding Yuuri, kissing him. 

No, a lie. He’s wanted this for so long. Knows exactly how deeply. He kisses Yuuri like he is trying to breathe again. Yuuri’s mouth is soft, lips parted, gasping for breath between them. Victor sinks into him. 

The last few weeks have been torture – coming closer to Yuuri only for him to pull away. He was asked to come here, after all – Yuuri asked him to come here, and maybe he’d come on too strong, maybe Yuuri had changed his mind about him – so many, many things that Yuuri never offered, that Victor never asked. But this, this is enough – this is the hope he needed, the confirmation that Yuuri understands the choreography he made for him, the music dancing between them, how much Victor has wanted this—

Yuuri swipes his thumbs over Victor’s cheeks and Victor melts, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. 

It is with effort and deep regret that Victor does break the kiss, staring down at Yuuri – his eyes wide, his expression soft. Drinks Yuuri in – wants nothing more than to hold him like this for the rest of the night, to kiss him until both their mouths are sore and bruised with it. Wants nothing more than this moment. 

“I’ve,” he whispers, fumbles, finds himself wholly, inadequately prepared to convey just _how much_ he has been waiting for this, just how happy he is – perfectly, completely happy – in this moment. He whispers, hushed, “I’ve wanted to do that since forever.” 

Yuuri laughs at him – a bright, clear note – and Victor’s stomach twists up happily. He feels overwhelmingly joyful, blissed out, hearing Yuuri’s laugh, that light smile directed at him. Yuuri here – in his arms. He touches Yuuri all over even when Yuuri pulls his hands back – slides his hands over his body, warm and soft but strong beneath his hands. Here. Solid. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri tells him, somewhat ridiculously, Victor only half-listening, “I know I’m not very good at this.” 

Victor is hardly listening, his fingers busy tracing over Yuuri’s skin, touching at his hair. He’s trying to focus on Yuuri’s words, but he’s distracted by the way Yuuri’s mouth shapes the words, the purse of his lips, the slide of his tongue over his bottom lip. 

He doesn’t know what’s finally made Yuuri come here tonight, what has finally shifted to bring him here. But he isn’t going to question it, isn’t going to risk losing him. 

Victor says his name again and then leans in, kissing him – because he can, because he _should._ Yuuri’s hands fist in his robe, tugs him down and kisses him back – and Victor makes a soft, pleased noise. Slides closer to him. Curls his body down to meet him – runs his hands over him. 

Yuuri is so wonderful. Victor wants too much at once – wants everything and anything at once. It’s overwhelming. Victor breaks the kiss, lingering close – wants to sink back into Yuuri, to share their breath, to taste his mouth, to just be here pressed together like this. He is exceptionally, deliriously happy. His hands are shaking a little, he knows, and if he were anyone other than Victor Nikiforov, perhaps he’d be embarrassed. But he can’t be. Not like this. Not when he finally has Yuuri here with him. And Yuuri has kept him waiting such a long time. 

But Yuuri is nervous against him, his hands shaking, too – his eyes flickering again, shining a little as he looks up at Victor and then away, down at their feet, back up at Victor again. Victor breathes a little – lingering close, not wanting to pull away. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, because Yuuri is still against him, his eyes wide as he looks at him. The last thing he wants, the very last thing in the entire world he wants, is to send Yuuri running away from him again. Not now. Not when he has him in his arms. 

“Mm,” Yuuri answers quickly, and Victor feels a small spot of tension ease in his shoulders. Yuuri shifts, voice light and purposefully airy, but weighted with his nerves. “Victor, I… Just, I’ve never…” 

“It’s alright,” Victor interrupts, his thumb touching Yuuri’s lip. Yuuri’s flushed, but his expression shifts at that touch, looking up at Victor, his eyes dark with desire. Victor is mesmerized by it – seduced by it all over again, these little shadows of their night together, these little flashes of the Yuuri he’s been getting to know these last few weeks, combining and condensing. They are, after all, the same Yuuri. 

“I know,” Yuuri answers. He licks his lips, his tongue touching briefly at Victor’s thumb. That alone is enough to steal Victor’s breath. Yuuri’s grip on Victor’s robe tightens – tethering him here, as if there was any fear that Victor would leave. 

When Yuuri kisses him this time, he is slower, gentler. Victor weaves his arms around him and draws him in close and kisses him – and moves back, slowly, just a few steps to see if Yuuri will follow. He does. And so, together, they tip backwards onto the bed, and Victor draws Yuuri up over him so that he presses down to him. Yuuri is a pleasant, wonderful weight against him. 

Victor curls his hand in Yuuri’s hair, drags him in close. Things move quicker like that – they kiss as if they were made to always do this, Yuuri only drawing back with a small laugh as he removes his glasses and sets them down on Victor’s bedside table. They kiss, Yuuri more demanding now, plying out sounds from Victor’s throat, sweeping down to press against him. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything Victor could want. 

He lets Yuuri do as he wants – lets Yuuri pin him down, press to him, kiss him long and slow. Victor can’t help but keen, can’t help the sounds he makes as Yuuri presses to him, kisses him. Even from this, he is painfully, sinfully hard – wants nothing more than to fall into Yuuri and stay there, wants nothing more than for Yuuri to keep touching him. 

A few times he tries to speak, tries to talk to Yuuri, _are you sure?_ and _is this okay?_ and _Yuuri, Yuuri—_

But Yuuri silences him each time. Kisses him, drags his hands over him. Yanks his shirt off and moves to straddle Victor. Victor stares up at him, his heart stilled in his throat, body shivering – longing and desire and so much wasted time in the way Yuuri moves. He remembers this. He’s wanted this. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and it is painfully inadequate, he knows, nowhere near what he wants to say or what he could say or even does justice to everything that Yuuri is, everything that Yuuri has already shown him. These last few weeks, even in their distance, has been more than anything else. A glimpse into the life Victor could be living. How desperately he wants it. How desperately he wants Yuuri. 

He touches Yuuri’s chest, drags his hands up. Yuuri laughs, blushing and embarrassed, but his mouth tilting up in a small smile. Almost ethereal in the half light, his expression open and gentle but eyes dark and lusting. Breathtaking. Yuuri is always breathtaking. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri tells him again, his voice bright with nervous laughter at the compliment. “I’m nervous.” 

Victor nods, his shoulders easing. “Me too.” 

He wants it to be good. He wants it to be so good for Yuuri. Wants it to have been worth this wait. Wants it to make up for the months between Sochi and now. Wants everything and anything at once. Can’t even put to words everything he thinks and feels in this moment, everything he desires when he looks up at Yuuri, shirtless above him. 

Yuuri’s hands drop to Victor’s collar and he says, “Take that off.” 

Victor shifts under him, quick to shrug out of his robe, to kick it aside without disrupting Yuuri’s position on the bed. He hooks his hands into his underwear, looks up at Yuuri for confirmation, for permission, for enthusiasm. Yuuri’s entire face is red, his eyes wide as he takes in Victor’s body – letting himself look now, in a way that he’s never looked at Victor in the hot springs. It’s a different, weighty look – different from all the times Yuuri has studied and analyzed him. His eyes linger, soft, tracing over every line of Victor’s body. 

He knows he looks nice to look at, but he wants, so desperately, to get Yuuri’s approval, his enthusiastic response. But Yuuri is quiet for a moment, eyes squinting and gears turning in his head. Thinking. Overthinking. Victor can tell he’s nervous – can tell he’s hesitating. 

It’s still so surprising that Yuuri should be here at all. Victor doesn’t know what’s finally flipped his switch, what’s made him come here like this, demand these things of Victor. He’s grateful for it, but knows now not to push. Knows one wrong word, one wrong sound, and Yuuri could dart from the room and be gone from his touch. 

So instead he lets go of his underwear and reaches for Yuuri instead – takes him into his arms. 

“We can do whatever you want,” he says, quiet, and Yuuri slams his eyes shut, going rigid. For half a moment, Victor fears he’s ruined it – that Yuuri will leave now, that he will snap back to himself and remember that he does not want Victor like this, not anymore. And Victor will have to go back to bitter pining, longing, waiting for Yuuri to look at him again. He half-wonders if it’s possible to die without Yuuri’s hands on him. 

But instead, Yuuri kisses him – touches his cheeks, his hair, his shoulders. His touch his warm and it makes Victor shiver, his arms curled around Yuuri’s body. 

It’s so difficult to read Yuuri in these moments, the seeming contradictions he moves in. Storming in here, kissing him. Tensing up, going quiet. Not for the first time, Victor has no idea what he’s thinking. Has no idea if he is doing the right thing. Has never had to doubt in this way before, has never felt this uncertain and nervous in bed with someone – although such times are few and far between. It’s different with Yuuri. He wants it to be different for Yuuri. 

“I want it to be good for you,” he tells him, quiet and honest, his heart thundering – afraid this will be the moment when Yuuri – sweet, shy, but shameless Yuuri – will move away from him, slide open the door, and disappear into the night. He doesn’t know what experiences with sex Yuuri has – knows it isn’t much, if at all – but he wants him to remember this, too, wants this to be unforgettable, better than anything else he’s ever experienced. 

Yuuri tilts his head, looks up at him and lifts his hand to touch his cheek – his thumb at his mouth. Victor offers him a small smile and kisses his thumb. 

Still Yuuri says nothing – but his eyes are heated, staring only at Victor. He takes up Victor’s hands and guides them, shows him where to touch him. Victor lets Yuuri lead him, follows after him willingly. He splays his hands over Yuuri’s back. He traces his fingers, lets his nails drag. Touches him. 

“Victor,” Yuuri finally says, hushed and quiet. 

He will never get used to the way Yuuri says his name. He smiles at him, utterly smitten and overfull with love and admiration, and leans into Yuuri’s touch. 

“Yuuri,” he answers. He will never get tired of saying his name. Will never get tired of hearing Yuuri say his, in turn. 

Yuuri locks eyes with him and Victor’s breath hitches as, determined, Yuuri reaches out and tugs Victor’s underwear down for him. Victor stops thinking for a half-second, his brain shorting out at the thought of _Yuuri stripping him down._ Yuuri’s hands at his clothes, dragging over his hips, his thighs. Yuuri, that painfully close to his cock which is still tragically, painfully hard. 

Yuuri doesn’t look down – doesn’t look away from Victor’s face. And somehow that’s more overwhelming than his hands’ proximity to his cock. Victor isn’t embarrassed to feel himself twitch at the slide of Yuuri’s hands on his thighs, at the heavy weight of his gaze on his. Victor does flush a little, despite himself, and glances down at himself, at Yuuri’s hands on his thighs. Victor lifts his hands to rest on Yuuri’s shoulders, using him for balance to help him wriggle out of his underwear, raising up onto his knees and shifting to kick his underwear away, with Yuuri’s assistance. The entire time, Yuuri doesn’t break his eyes from Victor’s face. 

“Now me,” Yuuri tells him, his voice heavy and dropping down into a lower register. 

And Victor shivers and hurries to obey him, hands dragging down Yuuri’s chest and to his hips, tugging at the drawstrings of Yuuri’s pants, wanting to see, wanting—

“And don’t… Don’t look yet,” Yuuri tells him, quiet but commanding. 

Victor snaps his eyes back up to look at Yuuri as he hooks his fingers in his sweatpants and underwear and tugs them down. Yuuri shudders a little, staring at him – and their eyes meet and it’s, somehow, the most intense thing Victor has ever felt. Knowing what he could see, knowing that Yuuri is undressing in front of him, with his help – and yet only looking into Yuuri’s eyes, the flush of his cheeks, the swell of his kiss-swollen mouth. He’s devastatingly beautiful. It’s almost physically painful. Victor will never get enough of him. He never wants to get enough of him. 

There is such a thrill in Yuuri commanding him, in Victor obeying him. Yuuri, who is at once _Eros_ and yet shy. Yuuri seduces him all over again, like it is easier than breathing in and back out again – sliding into that seduction, that temptation. Seducing what was already his, what has been his for months. 

He runs his hands down Yuuri’s thighs, feeling the flex of his muscles, the slide of his skin. Yuuri glances down at himself, bites his lip as he blushes. He’s beautiful. Victor can’t help but smile, nervous but delighted. He smiles stupidly when Yuuri looks back up at him. 

“Is it okay?” Victor asks him, just to make sure, just to check in, because the silence is stretching, because he cannot read Yuuri’s face, but he _wants him._ He wants him so desperately. Wants Yuuri to like what he sees, wants Yuuri to like this. Wants it to be good. Wants it to be good for Yuuri. 

Instead of answering, Yuuri’s gaze flickers down – and he stares at Victor, naked in front of him. There is nothing in the world Victor wants more than to look at Yuuri, too. But he isn’t allowed to and he won’t break Yuuri’s trust – and so he just watches the shift of Yuuri’s expression, the slide of his hair at his forehead, the bite of his lip, the flush of his cheeks and the pink at his ears. 

Yuuri stares at him for a long time. Drinks him in. Victor doesn’t squirm, not at first – but it is strange to be the center of such focused attention. His heart is pounding. He is brutally aware of being naked in front of Yuuri, of Yuuri’s eyes traveling every inch of his body. Yuuri is looking at him – his chest, his legs, his hands, his cock. Yuuri is taking in the sight of him, properly. 

“Yuuriiiiii,” he whines out, not necessarily embarrassed – but wanting Yuuri’s hands on him, wanting his approval. “Tell me what you’re thinking…?” 

Yuuri jerks his head up, blinking his vision clear as if returning from a daze. Victor smiles at him, a touch nervous – but expectant. 

“Can I…” Yuuri starts and then stops. He sucks in a sharp breath and instead of answering Victor, merely says, “I’m going to touch you now.” 

Victor’s breath hitches and he smiles wider. “Please do.” 

“You’re not allowed to look until I say so,” Yuuri says before reaching for him. Victor manages to whine out about being teased, but then Yuuri touches him and it’s like an electric shock running through Victor. 

The touch is tentative at first. Victor jerks his head back and stares at the ceiling so he won’t be tempted to look down at Yuuri. He bites his lip, swallowing down thickly, his entire body humming with desire, with the knowledge that Yuuri’s hands are on him. 

Yuuri palms at his cock and then curls his fingers around him, holding him loosely in his hold. It is not an earth-shattering touch by any means, but it is still Yuuri with his hands on him – and Victor bites back a small, ridiculous moan. He lets Yuuri explore him, bites his lip hard as Yuuri moves closer and presses to him, rests his cheek against Victor’s shoulder as he slides his hand over his cock. Body shaking, Victor wraps his arm around Yuuri – keeps him close. 

Yuuri plays with his cock like this, squeezes and strokes, his hold soft at first and then firmer, alternating his grip between soft and hard, his hand twisting, his fingers curling around his cockhead. Victor is a grown man who has had sex before but even this is enough to undo him, if only because it is Yuuri – and Yuuri is pressed to him and touching him, his breath at his neck. Victor stares at the ceiling, his vision swimming, his body flooded with desire, his cock hard and thick in Yuuri’s hand. He’s shaking a little – happiness, desire, so much relief. 

Once Yuuri sets a rhythm, Victor doesn’t bother trying to be quiet – lets a few, hiccupping moans escape him when Yuuri twists his hand, soft gasps when he strokes down, tiny sounds when Yuuri squeezes at the base. He jerks his hips forward, lacking finesse. 

“Yuuri,” he says, as if it is the only sound he knows, the only word he knows how to make. He is so desperate. He can’t even be embarrassed that a handjob could bring him to this state. He holds Yuuri’s hair tight, stares at the ceiling and wants nothing more than to tilt his head down and bury his face in Yuuri’s hair, to kiss him, to touch him back. But he lets Yuuri come to him, lets Yuuri set the pace – lets this be about Yuuri. 

“You can look,” Yuuri tells him, benevolent and kind. Must hear the desperation and longing in Victor’s voice. Sweet Yuuri. Wonderful Yuuri. He says, “You can touch me.” 

Victor snaps his head down as Yuuri buries his face against Victor’s neck. He doesn’t know where to rest his eyes first, where to look at Yuuri. Yuuri keeps stroking him off, hand wrapped around Victor’s cock. His eyes fall there first, the way Yuuri’s hand looks on his skin, firm and strong fingers curled around his cock. He swallows down thickly – looks at Yuuri’s body, in this new context, different from soaking in the hot springs, or under the mesh of his costume, or changing after practice. 

Yuuri is gorgeous. His body glows in the moonlight, curled up against Victor, his muscles tensed, his body warm and taut like a bow, pressing up to Victor, his hand around Victor’s cock. Victor could spend hours just looking at him. 

Yuuri is hard. His cock rests against his thigh, curving and beautiful. Victor reaches for it, takes it reverently into his hand, and Yuuri sobs out and jerks forward – lurching up against Victor, enough so that they nearly tip backward. Victor braces himself, breathing out in a rush, his body thrumming with the touch of Yuuri’s cock in his hand. Thick and warm, firm and velvety soft – and being touched by him. Yuuri, here. Yuuri, in his hands. 

He strokes Yuuri off, doesn’t even think about it – just mimics Yuuri’s movements, his hands on him. Yuuri kisses his neck, breath hushed and gasping against his skin. Victor squeezes around his cock, strokes him off – and Yuuri follows him, stroking him off in turn, squeezing at the base. Victor startles out a small, pleased cry – and it is too much and not enough at once. But it’s wonderful, so wonderful, to have Yuuri here like this, to hold him here like this, to feel him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers when he presses his mouth up to Yuuri’s ear and Yuuri shudders against him. “Watching you on the ice like that today…” he gasps for breath, tries to find the words to say how much it meant, how much he’s been longing for this, just wanting Yuuri to _understand_. He squeezes Yuuri’s cock, strokes him slowly. “Holding you like this…” 

Yuuri nods his head – and Victor hopes that means he understands, that he feels the same way – that this has been such a long time coming, and Victor still doesn’t know why Yuuri should have shied away for so long, but is glad he’s moved to him now. Glad that Yuuri decided he was worth it, that they could have this. 

“Yuuri,” he whispers, “Let me…” 

Yuuri stills up as Victor moves them, falls onto his back and drags Yuuri on top of him. Victor smiles up at him – soft and yearning, his body pressing up to Yuuri’s, his smile just for Yuuri. 

“Look at you,” he whispers, still can’t quite believe that Yuuri is here, that Yuuri is touching him, that Yuuri could finally want him after all this time. Has been thinking about this for so long, ever since that night in Sochi. 

Yuuri jerks forward and kisses him and Victor sighs. He kisses him back, wriggling his hand between them to stroke at Yuuri’s cock, guiding him forward so they slide together. Yuuri’s breath hitches and Victor moans out, quiet, snapping his hips up to meet Yuuri’s. 

When they do come, Victor comes first. It’s been a laughably long time since he last slept with anyone and Victor really shouldn’t be surprised – but he’s still a little embarrassed, tilting his head to the side as the orgasm courses through him. When he blinks his eyes open again, Yuuri is staring at him – studying him again. Flushed, Victor casts him a warm smile and strokes him off until Yuuri comes, too. Yuuri ducks his head with a soft moan and a quieter cry, shuddering above Victor and coming over his stomach and over his hand. 

They kiss – slow and unhurried, and Victor wonders if it’s actually possible to explode from happiness. Victor draws back only to grab his towel from earlier and clean them both off, quick to collect Yuuri into his arms again, who’s looking just the littlest bit shell-shocked. 

“Will you stay?” Victor asks him, warm and pliant, the sleepiness from the day catching up on him. 

Yuuri is quiet for a long moment. But eventually he nods. Victor sighs out and smiles at him before closing his eyes. 

 

-

 

Yuuri is not there when Victor wakes up the next morning. Victor feels that spark of disappointment, deep in his gut, a low level kind of longing that hasn’t dissipated despite holding Yuuri as he had the night before.

In fact, Yuuri isn’t anywhere to be seen the next day – not until long after they’re meant to start practicing and Yuuri comes bustling in with a hurried apology and a cry that he’s overslept. He’s blushing, barely looking at Victor – or looking at him as if he’s too much to look at, like it is painful to look at him. It stings, after the night they’ve had. 

Yuuri falls during all his jumps at practice. 

“Yuuri,” Victor calls out, “you tend to flub your jumps when something’s on your mind.” 

Practice doesn’t go well, and Yuuri seems determined to spend the entire day avoiding eye contact with Victor. Victor finds that he’s missed the weight of Yuuri’s eyes on him, always feeling his gaze on him. He hadn’t realized how often Yuuri did it until suddenly Yuuri is not looking at him at all anymore.

 

-

 

It becomes abundantly clear over the next few days that Yuuri is avoiding him. They’re in the middle of working out the free skate music question, and Yuuri hasn’t returned to Victor’s room since that night – although Makkachin certainly has no problem leaving his room in favor of Yuuri’s. Victor can’t exactly blame him for wanting Yuuri’s company. It still stings, though. 

It isn’t noticeable at first. Yuuri’s mind is clearly elsewhere, and then it is distant enough that Victor can’t read his expression at all. At once, he feels even further away than before. 

“Yuuri, let’s go somewhere today!” he calls.

But Yuuri shakes his head and walks away, back to him. 

“Yuuri, let’s go take a bath!” he calls.

But Yuuri shakes his head, wandering off towards bed. 

“Yuuri, let’s go to sleep together!” Victor calls out and Yuuri ignores him, slamming his door shut. 

 

-

 

“I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings,” Yuuri tells Victor the morning at the beach and Victor thinks – hopes – he might begin to understand. 

Later, the haphazard choreography for _Yuri on Ice_ scrawled out on a notepad between them, Victor asks Yuuri if he’s changed the musical theme. 

“Um…” Yuuri tells him. “The theme is ‘on my love.’” 

And something warm and tender twists up inside of Victor. He thinks again that he and Yuuri must be thinking of the same thing. It’s a fluttery feeling that rises up in his throat, curls warmly around his heart. It’s an itch under his skin, a tension in his shoulders, a quirk of his smile when he looks at Yuuri. 

Yuuri, letting him in and coming closer. Yuuri, letting him touch him – that night in Sochi, dancing together – or kissing him – that night after _Onsen on Ice_ , Yuuri pressing to him both shy and bold at once. Yuuri, always surprising him. Yuuri, inspiring him. Yuuri. Yuuri. 

Gently, he answers, “That’s the best theme of all.” 

 

-

 

Victor and Yuuri both throw themselves into practice – and it’s good, it’s stable. Yuuri is a good student – attentive, ready to learn. His stamina is nothing to dismiss, either, and there are many days that end with Victor feeling more exhausted than Yuuri looks. Still, he promised Yuuri he wouldn’t go easy on him – _that’s my way of showing my love,_ he’d said that day on the beach – and he intends to keep at it. He promised Yuuri gold at the Grand Prix Final, and he’s determined to be the best coach he can be. He might still be fitting himself into that role, but he’s determined. 

There’s still that low thrill from _Onsen on Ice,_ that feeling and excitement he’d been missing for the last few skating seasons. It’s different to be on the other side of the blocks, shouting out instructions to Yuuri that Yuuri follows. In another time, Yakov would shout these things at Victor and Victor would blithely ignore him. Yuuri is a good student – and a beautiful one, too, the way he turns and sweeps across the ice, brow furrowed in his focus. 

Today, though, Yuuri is botching his jumps, fumbling through them and sprawling across the ice. Some of the falls look painful but Yuuri rises to his feet each time, jaw set tighter as he moves to try again. There’s something devastatingly beautiful about such destruction, Victor thinks, and flinches a little when Yuuri takes a particularly hard fall in an attempt to land a quad Salchow. That’ll bruise, he thinks absently. He landed right on his hip. 

“Yuuri,” he calls. He picks up Yuuri’s water bottle from the blocks and shakes it a little, the water swishing around. “Come take a break.” 

Yuuri’s expression twists into a scowl, frustration at himself, but he skates over to Victor. He takes up the water bottle, avoiding Victor’s eyes, and takes tiny little sips. Up close, Victor can see the sweat on his brow, the flush to his cheeks, the hush of his breath as he heaves in gulping breaths of air. Victor doesn’t suggest Yuuri take a break – knows Yuuri will refuse that, will insist – and so he lets Yuuri set the pace, lets Yuuri take this break, sipping his water and using a small towel Victor hands him to wipe his brow. 

It’s breathtaking, really – that raw power and potential coiled up inside of Yuuri. _I lack confidence,_ he once told Victor. But like this, Victor can’t doubt Yuuri’s strength, his skill. He’ll get them there – it’s his job as coach to make it happen. Yuuri could get there on his own, too, if only he could find a way to bridge the Yuuri in practice to the Yuuri in competition to the Yuuri who looks at Victor with dark, heated eyes. 

Yuuri’s avoiding his gaze today, though. Has been for most of the last few days. His jumps keep getting messed up and it all points to one thing – Yuuri has something on his mind. 

After weeks of working with Yuuri, almost a month and a half now since he first showed up in Hasetsu, Victor knows better than to force it out of Yuuri. He knows to wait, knows to look for the crack in Yuuri’s mask – the moment when Victor might meet him where he’s ready to talk, or where Yuuri might reach out and offer the words himself. He can wait. 

Yuuri sets down his water bottle and swipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes already casting back out towards the ice. 

“Why don’t you show me your Salchow again?” Victor suggests, watches Yuuri’s steady nod. 

Yuuri slips back out onto the ice and Victor can’t tear his eyes away from him. 

 

-

 

When Yuuri kisses him again, it’s after a tough practice – Yuuri is away stretching and cooling down and Victor does a few turns out on the ice. When he sees Yuuri waiting for him at the blocks, he skates to him. 

Once he’s close enough, Yuuri leans over the blocks and catches Victor’s mouth with his – unexpectedly and sweetly, lingering close. Victor’s heart stutters to a halt and then he melts into the kiss, returning it gently. He murmurs softly in surprised delight, sighing out as he touches Yuuri’s cheek and holds him close to him through their kiss. 

He doesn’t want the kiss to end, but when Yuuri pulls back, Victor is smiling at him – loopy and in love. “Yuuri,” he breathes out, hushed, “What was that for?” 

His heart is doing kickflips in his chest, solid and firm. It’s been so long since Yuuri kissed him. He wants to be kissing Yuuri all the time. 

“I just wanted to,” Yuuri answers, blushing. He has never looked more beautiful than when he looks at Victor like this. 

 

-

 

Yuuri is bruised all over, a particularly bad one blooming at his hip. Victor catches sight of it as Yuuri slips into the hot spring that night, sinking down up to his shoulders with a long, muted sigh. The air has that metallic tang, the minerals in the water around them, and Victor feels gentled and relaxed, smiling a little at Yuuri as he settles, the steam rising between them. 

“You worked hard today,” Victor tells him, hopes that Yuuri can hear the praise in his voice. 

Yuuri flushes – although that could be because of the heated water, but Victor likes to think not – and nods. 

“You did well,” Victor compliments but Yuuri’s nose wrinkles as he settles, clearly disagreeing with Victor, although unvoiced. Victor doesn’t know why Yuuri should be dismissive of the work he’s done – he’s made good progress, although his jumps are still dismal. He’s improving on his spins, and the choreography for _Yuri on Ice_ is coming together nicely. 

They sit in silence, letting the hot water ease their sore muscles. Victor sighs, relaxing and tipping his head back. It’s becoming something of a staple in their training, that after a long day of practice for Yuuri, they relax together in the springs. Yuuri’s parents even let them do so after the hot springs is closed, after particularly grueling practices. Victor appreciates the luxury of it, how nice it feels and the way it helps Yuuri relax and unwind, too. Most of the time, these moments pass in silence. Sometimes, Yuuri just watches Victor. 

Victor knows he does it, although he isn’t sure if Yuuri is fully aware of how often he pins his eyes on Victor. 

Most of the time, Victor can feel Yuuri watching him. It’s a intense, laser-focused kind of stare. From anyone else it might be unsettling, and anyone other than Victor might be unsettled by such a heavy gaze. But Victor grows used to it, used to glancing towards Yuuri only to see his eyes locked on him – or Yuuri hurriedly looking away.

He’s staring at Victor today, though. Beautiful Yuuri, sitting across from him over the span of the water, bruises on his arms and his chest, across his hips hiding beneath the water. Beautiful Yuuri, staring only at Victor. 

Then Yuuri says, quietly, “Victor… will you wash my back?” 

“Right now?” Victor asks. He’s seen the older customers in the washing room, sitting together while they clean off, or sitting in the larger tubs. Victor doesn’t fully understand all the traditions, has certainly just followed after Yuuri in terms of not overstepping into something offensive. The politics of hot springs seems straight-forward enough, but it’s still unlike any bathhouses in Russia. Yuuri tried to explain it all to him once, but Yuuri struggled to find the proper words in English and Victor got distracted thinking about Yuuri washing _his_ back to remember much of anything else. 

“No,” Yuuri answers, shaking his head. “Not out here. But…” He seems to flounder, ready to take it back. “Well—”

“Of course, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts before Yuuri can change his mind or dismiss the request. Yuuri gets so shy asking things of Victor, as if he has not already demanded so much – as if what he has demanded were things Victor wouldn’t give him willingly. 

He lifts himself out of the spring immediately and Yuuri looks startled and red-faced, but also doesn’t protest. He waves his hands a little, glancing away, before he seems to gather up his footing and follows after Victor. 

Yuuri eventually overtakes Victor, shoving a towel at him before ducking into the steamy, warmed bathing facilities, finding the supplies. His neck and face are flushed red, but now that he has asked the question, he seems determined. 

It’s different like this then when they’re about to enter the hot springs. Of course they both wash off and clean down, scrubbing away sweat and then soap before entering the hot springs properly, and it’s Victor’s understanding that this sort of attention is paid only then. But still, Yuuri sets down the stool and sits down on it, turning his back to Victor and offering him the sponge. He doesn’t always understand the things that Yuuri does, but he’s learned not to question it, either – to go where Yuuri wants him to go. 

It’s interesting to Victor, what sort of things can fluster Yuuri so easily. How the nakedness in the hot springs doesn’t seem to bother him as much as some other things. Yuuri has barely kissed him since the night of _Onsen on Ice._ It’s unsettling, really, how unreadable Yuuri can be – and if it weren’t for the way Yuuri stares at him, the way that Yuuri lingers close, Victor would start to fear that he had pushed too far, that he had done something wrong. 

He isn’t so self-conscious to think that it hadn’t been good for Yuuri – although now in the aftermath, Victor is left with the itching want of _more_ , to show Yuuri everything, to show Yuuri just how much Victor’s wants him. But the talk on the beach, if anything, taught him to be patient. Yuuri’s tendency to move away from him at the start of his stay here in Hasetsu solidifies that – to wait. To let Yuuri come to him. It isn’t just confidence and self-assurance that tells him that Yuuri will, when he’s ready – it’s a steady kind of feeling between them, a pendulum swinging, or an anchor tied between them. Y

uuri asked him to come here. Yuuri wants him. He wants Yuuri. So it will happen, when Yuuri is ready to take that step, when he can break his mind away from practice long enough to notice that Victor is waiting for him. 

Still, it is strange, the mixture of shyness and boldness that Yuuri always displays – those narrowed, confident eyes on him coupled with the small, uncertain blush, the hesitating words. Yuuri is a contradiction, but Victor loves that about him – loves that Yuuri is always surprising him. That Yuuri can be shy. But that Yuuri can sit in front of Victor like this, too, naked and unselfconscious as Victor washes his back, hands on him. 

He studies the small bruises on Yuuri’s back, the larger ones at his hips and elbows, a constellation of darker colors across Yuuri’s back. He studies the curve of Yuuri’s spine, the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. He is tragically beautiful, he thinks – and he runs his hands down his back, remembering the sponge only after he’s let his nails drag slightly over his skin and Yuuri shivers. 

“Victor,” he mutters, but doesn’t turn to look at him. There are other people in the washroom tonight, their practice ending before the hot springs’ operating hours. Victor draws in a small breath and runs the sponge down the bumps of Yuuri’s spine. 

Yuuri breathes out and then sits up a little straighter, his back arching, his shoulders flexing. 

“Why did you want me to do this for you, Yuuri?” Victor asks, both their bodies still warm and pliant from the hot springs, the air around them warm and steaming. He scrubs Yuuri’s back in perfunctory ambition – it isn’t as if Yuuri is dirty or really needs the washing. Still, he lets the sponge sud up, runs it over his body. 

Victor lets his free hand run down Yuuri’s side, cups his hip. His touch is light, easy enough for Yuuri to squirm away, not wanting to hurt him by touching the large purple bruise at his hip too firmly. 

“No real reason,” Yuuri says after a long silence. 

Victor has come to expect these long silences from Yuuri – that long silence where he collects his thoughts, or collects the English. Victor doesn’t mind it, mostly because it’s so counter to how the rest of Yuuri’s family speaks. Yuuri’s parents don’t speak a lot of English and they hurry through it, dismissing their lack of vocabulary with a wave of their hand, never lingering to try to determine what they’re missing. Mari lacks Yuuri’s long patience for silence, visibly frustrated whenever the English word escapes her. She typically scoffs and mutters the Japanese word a few times aloud until she can think of something else to say or Victor charges through with more English, wishing he could pick up Japanese as easily as he picks French back up every time he has to speak it. 

Yuuri is different, though. Yuuri mulls – waits for the words to wash over him, waits until he finds what it is he’s trying to say. When Victor first told Yuuri he wanted to learn Japanese, he’d looked disbelieving and then spoke a rapid fire sentence in Japanese – and the way Yuuri speaks in Japanese is so different from English, a certain confidence and finesse that’s just the slightest bit missing from his English, although his English is well above fluent at this point – they both are. It might be because Victor can hardly pick out the words and so they found fast and perfect, more confident. But it opens inside Victor’s chest like an aching yawn – wanting to understand, wanting to know the words and speak the words back at Yuuri. 

He understands Yuuri’s long silences. English fits uneasily on Victor’s tongue sometimes, too. He has been fluent for years. But sometimes it doesn’t express exactly what he wants to say. Sometimes not even Russian does. Skating can often convey what he’s trying to say and he can only hope that Yuuri can read the language their skating creates, when words fail. 

Victor hums at Yuuri’s answer, scrubbing the sponge gently down his back, along his sides. He leans forward a bit, running the sponge down Yuuri’s arms, to the tips of his fingers. Yuuri glances at him over his shoulder and all Victor wants to do is kiss him. 

“I just wanted to,” Yuuri finally says, picking up the threads of their fallen conversation. 

Victor smiles at him. “You should always do what you want, Yuuri.” 

A small smile hints at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth as he turns away. He relaxes under Victor’s touch. 

 

-

 

Victor remembers what Yuuri told him that day on the beach – about the girl he pushed away. And so he waits. Yuuri shies away sometimes, but other times – other times... 

And so he waits. 

 

-

 

These are the things that Victor comes to learn in Hasetsu: some passable Japanese, the overflowing feeling of love when he looks at Yuuri, and the way even a short few months has changed Victor’s skating. 

The Japanese is the hardest part. He hurls himself into practicing. He downloaded an app before flying to Japan and he practices late into the night after practice each night, after eating dinner with Yuuri and his family, after biding Yuuri pleasant dreams, after walking Makkachin and cuddling with him until he drops off into sleepy dog dreams that involve kicking paws. Victor’s grasp of the written language is abysmal but his speaking is coming along – and he can even say a few customary phrases to Yuuri’s parents. Minako and Yuuko, when he gets a chance to speak to them, offer tips and switch into English when necessary. He has better luck speaking to the triplets when they deign to slow down for him, really. When he speaks to Mari, she typically gives him a deadpan look that seems so much like Yuuri’s sarcastic face that it causes Victor’s chest to ache. 

He likes it, though, getting to speak to them, getting to practice, having Yuuko politely try not to laugh at his butchering of the pronunciation and Minako outright scolding him. The language is difficult, but it’s all the more rewarding when he can pick out words in conversations and understand, when he can gush out a word of praise to Yuuri on the ice and find Yuuri looking back at him with pleased surprise. 

The love is easier. The love is not so much something that Victor learns, but rediscovers. With each passing day that Yuuri practices _On Love: Eros_ or _Yuri on Ice,_ Victor can only think about Yuuri, the way he moves, the way he looks. 

He remembers Yuuri from the banquet, but it doesn’t seem as close anymore, doesn’t seem as necessary. Yuuri spins into a camel spin in front of him, exits out of it with a pleased huff of breath – and that sizzles in the back of Victor’s mind later that night. Or, Yuuri flushes when Victor manages to butcher his way through some Japanese praising of Yuuri’s jump – and that warms Victor’s chest from the inside out. 

He’s beginning to understand. The first few weeks in Hasetsu, it felt like his personal mission to get that Yuuri in Sochi back, to coax him back out of Yuuri. But this shyer, gentler Yuuri is part of him, too. They’re both the same Yuuri and it isn’t a matter of dragging out one or the other. This Yuuri he loves just as much, if not more – each moment spent with him, teasing out his stronger skating, feeling Yuuri’s hands on him burning like a brand whenever his fingers skim over Victor’s shoulders, his hands. 

He changed because of Yuuri – this he knows. He changed because somebody looked past everything and saw _him,_ who drew him out onto the dance floor that night only to whirlwind away before Victor knew what hit him. 

Chasing after him to Japan, getting to know Yuuri – he feels changed. It reflects in his skating. Even Yuuri noticed it, pointing out one day in his quiet and reverential way ( _It’s different. I don’t—_ ). 

There’s something about Hasetsu that Victor loves. It’s where Yuuri comes from, where he can eat delicious food each day, spend time with Makkachin, learn Japanese from Yuuri and his family and friends, speak to the townspeople and have him greet him warmly, speak to Yuuri’s parents and have them call him _Vicchan_ like he has always belonged here, where he can listen to the seagulls crying in the morning and feel at home and happier for it. 

In Hasetsu, he feels as if he can have everything – days of practicing, resting on their off days throwing sticks for Makkachin on the beach or making Yuuri teach him more Japanese conjugations and vocabulary. 

“Maybe I can speak with your parents by the end of the month!” Victor gushes, pleased. 

“My parents speak in a dialect,” Yuuri tells him. “Learning Japanese is one thing, but…?” He shakes his head. “I don’t mind translating for you, you know. But you can’t expect to get fluent so soon. It’ll take years. You know that.” 

Victor does know. Sweet, kind Yuuri would translate a conversation but it would not be the same – especially as he knows that if he were to praise Yuuri to Yuuri’s parents, Yuuri would just get flustered and refuse to list every single bit of ode that Victor wants to convey to the parents who loved and supported Yuuri all these years. He wants to say thank you, really say thank you, and be understood. 

“It’s important,” Victor says, hates to feel that he’s fumbling for words – again, the English sounds biting and sloppy in his mouth, not nearly enough to convey the level of importance. He hopes that Yuuri understands. “I want to be able to speak to them, Yuuri. They’re your parents.” 

Yuuri blushes so sweetly, his mouth parting as if surprised this would be Victor’s response, as if surprised that Victor could identify this as important. 

This is what Victor learns in Hasetsu: he is so lucky to have met Yuuri. 

 

-

 

Yuuri is frustrated. The last few practices haven’t been going well with choreography. Despite Victor telling him to ease up on the jumps, he seems determined to keep trying, which only adds more to his frustration. Victor frowns a little as Yuuri butchers another attempt at his Salchow. 

“Okay, Yuuri,” he says when Yuuri skids to a stop in front of him, looking at him, hopeful yet hopeless – desperate for some good news. “Why don’t we try something different?” 

“Like what?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “Why not take a break from your free skate and try the short program again? We’re still working out the kinks in your free. So you’re more set in your choreography for the short.” 

Yuuri bites at his lip and then chews on his inner cheek. Around a sigh, he says, “Right, okay.” 

Victor tsks, holding back a small smile as he wags his finger at Yuuri. “Confidence, Yuuri. After all, _Eros_ is about seduction.” 

Yuuri was the one to choose the theme – _on my love._ Yuuri was the one to ask him here, to beg him to be his coach. Yuuri was the one to win him in _Onsen on Ice._ Yuuri was the one who stared at him. Yuuri. It has always been about Yuuri. It has always been about the art of seduction. 

Yuuri sighs, ducking his head. He’s quiet for a moment, collecting himself, and Victor waits with a quiet sort of wonder, witnessing that slow unfurling, that transformation. It isn’t a different Yuuri, not a Yuuri he hasn’t already gotten to know. But an uncovering, a dusting off, a readjustment. A Yuuri who looks up at him, gaze heated, mouth set, his voice dropping into that lower register that Victor loves. 

“Yes,” he says, and his voice is liquid fire, heating Victor from the inside out. He stares at Victor and Victor alone. 

Victor smiles. “That’s better,” he says, his own voice hushed. “Skate like you’re seducing me.” 

Yuuri looks at him, his cheeks flushed, mouth parted slightly. Victor looks back at him, meets his gaze – giving the smallest of nods. Yes, like this. This is the other side of Yuuri he knows, the other side of Yuuri he’s waiting for. Victor drums his fingers on the boards, close to Yuuri’s hands – close enough to touch, but not quite. Part of the seduction is the anticipation, and Victor has been waiting for Yuuri for so long. 

“Yes,” Yuuri says again, looking at him. 

Victor’s smile is quiet but certain, the glow in his stomach warming him, the anticipation humming in his blood. “Go on, then.” 

Skate like seduction, he’d told Yuuri – as if he were not already seduced, as if he were not already waiting for him. But Yuuri turns and moves to the center of the ice and Victor summons up the song on his phone. The sound is tinny when it plays, when Yuuri starts to skate, but the point is the music that Yuuri creates himself. 

Yuuri’s jumps aren’t perfect as he moves through the routine, but that doesn’t matter – all that matters is the way that Yuuri moves, dancing for Victor and only Victor. He slides across the ice, effortless and beautiful, his arms folding, his legs flexing, his hips swaying. He is everything and more – he is seduction, he is invitation, he is love. Yuuri doesn’t look at him, not really – but he’s dancing for Victor. His smile tells Victor so. His eyes bright but determined. His body moves through the steps as easy as breathing, and Yuuri is only halfway through the routine but Victor is shaking, his body pulled taut with longing and wanting – seduced, seduced the moment he saw Yuuri skating _Stay Close to Me_ , and even before that, with Yuuri inspiring this routine that night in Sochi. 

Victor can see the transformation in Yuuri as he moves. That shift when he stops thinking of katsudon and starts thinking of something else – something deeper, something even more tangible than egg and pork. Yuuri moves slower, that slightest touch of shyness at the corner of his eye that blows away with a swivel of his body, pivoting, turning into a spin. That the transformation in thought could be so visible to Victor shocks him more than anything else – and again, there goes Yuuri, surprising him – and all he can hope is that Yuuri is thinking of their night together, tucked into Victor’s bed, Yuuri’s hands on him, their mouths pressed together in panting huffs of breath, the way Yuuri looked as he came, pressed against him, shaking in Victor’s arms.

Yuuri spins, throws his arms as if casting Victor aside and slides into his final pose, eyes averted and face flushed as he pants for air. In the stillness that follows the song running its course on Victor’s phone, Victor goes breathless. 

Slowly, Yuuri untangles his arms from around himself, runs his hand through his hair to push some of the sweaty hair from his forehead. And then he turns his eyes towards Victor – locks gazes with him and skates towards him. Victor is pinned to the spot. 

They say nothing to each other as Yuuri slides to a halt in front of him, only the boards between them now. Yuuri is breathless, and up close like this the sound of him trying to heave in air tilts Victor’s focus, the puff of breath passing through Yuuri’s parted lips. He wonders how obvious he must look in this moment – knows he is slightly flushed, knows his eyes are flickering from Yuuri’s halting eyes, his mouth, the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

Yuuri closes his eyes, takes in a deep, stilling breath. Lets it back out again. When he opens his eyes and looks at him, the shift in his gaze is different – somehow more focused than ever before. Victor can’t breathe. Actually, physically forgets to breathe for a moment. He clenches his hands on the boards. 

“Well?” Yuuri asks, his voice low and rich and thick with promise. “Did I seduce you?”

A laughable question. Victor doesn’t even pause to answer him. “Yes.” 

He would let Yuuri fuck him right here, on the floor of Ice Castle. He would let Yuuri do anything he’d like to him, anything at all – as long as Yuuri was here, right in front of him, looking at him like this. 

“Then you know what to do,” Yuuri says, confident, poised. 

“Yuuri,” Victor answers, the name punching out of him before he can stop it. 

Yuuri tilts his head, eyes going half-lidded. He says, “Take me to bed.” 

And Victor scrambles to obey. 

 

-

 

Victor is not embarrassed to admit that, once they’re back to the inn, he practically throws Yuuri into his room. There’s a small thrill in being able to pick him up, to guide him and have Yuuri go willingly – reaching for him in turn. He reaches for Yuuri, cups his face and kisses him – desperate to give what Yuuri has asked of him, the teasing and promises he’d whispered with the movement of his body through his dance. It isn’t the only thing he’s been thinking about since they slept together, but it has never been far from his mind – how much he wanted to hold Yuuri again, here, like this. 

He kisses Yuuri and when Yuuri kisses him back, it is savage. The same Yuuri who can avoid his gaze, the same Yuuri who shies away from his touch. The same Yuuri who pressed against him after sliding around a pole with Chris. The same Yuuri who came above him with a soft cry, his body shuddering against Victor’s. This Yuuri kisses him like it’s easy, like it is physically painful for them to be parted a moment longer. He likes this Yuuri. He likes _Yuuri._ Yuuri, who hates to lose. Yuuri, who hates compromise. Yuuri, who looks at Victor like he is everything he could want and more. Yuuri, who skates until it hurts, who pays no attention to the bruises that constellate his body. 

It is a clumsy kiss at first. But theirs tend to be clumsy – inelegant and spiked with desire, Victor reaching out to him and bumping hands against Yuuri. Yuuri, who never seems to settle on where he wants his hands to rest. 

Yuuri follows the ride of his seduction – moves Victor effortlessly. Shoves him onto the bed. Climbs up over him. Strips off Victor’s clothes. Their second and third and fourth kisses are deeper, slower, Victor’s entire body arching up to meet Yuuri. Yuuri touches him, drags his nails over his skin. 

Victor can hardly breathe. He is at home like this, he is revealed like this, he is lost and wanted and protected. He is Yuuri’s. 

Yuuri is beautiful like this – like fire, his eyes burning, his body warm and coiling under Victor’s touch. He bites his lip and moans when Victor runs his hands over him. He pushes Victor down – chases after him, kissing him hard. His hair is a mess, sweat to his brow. He looks utterly wrecked and Victor knows he must not look much better – but he’s beautiful like this. Beautiful and untouchable, wild. 

Yuuri’s hands in his hair – tugging him close, devouring him. Yuuri’s hands on his body, pushing him down. His mouth – against his, down his neck, his chest, his cock. It’s overwhelming, it’s too much – this is all he wants, to watch Yuuri move over him, confident and breathtaking. 

Yuuri’s mouth around his cock, twisting his tongue, inelegant and rough, but enthusiastic. Victor, arching and gasping out, hands clawing for something to hold on to. Wanting to beg to let Yuuri touch him, too, but unable to find the words – words and meaning leaving him when Yuuri’s hand curls around his cock and strokes in time to his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the pillowing of his lips along the length of his cock, sliding along the base, back up to the cockhead. 

Breathless, sweating, his body shuddering. It’s been so long since Yuuri has touched him, even longer before Yuuri since he’s been touched at all. His body unfurls in layers, remembering all of this, but never remembering it feeling like this, never knowing it could be like this – how desperately he loves Yuuri, how desperately it feels to have Yuuri close, touching him, unraveling him like this. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it happens. 

He imagines that Yuuri must have expected him to be more suave in bed, but instead he is a gasping, moaning mess – his hips shuddering up as Yuuri swipes his tongue along his cockhead, pulls back when Victor comes, watching him with such intention and focus that Victor feels overwhelmed under such a heavy gaze, his come cooling on his stomach. He wanted it to last longer, he wanted to last longer if only to keep feeling Yuuri’s touch. He flushes. 

Victor heaves in a breath, hands shaking as he reaches for Yuuri, kisses him sloppily just to taste the shadow of himself on Yuuri’s tongue, skin and sweat and Yuuri’s mouth, soft but demanding against his. Strokes Yuuri off in his hand, inelegant again but with Yuuri gasping beautiful moans into his mouth and coming over Victor’s stomach and hand. 

As they both gulp in breath, slowly relaxing around the frenzied need and desire, Victor casts a soft smile up at Yuuri. 

Sighs out, softly, “Wow.” 

Yuuri flushes, but looks pleased – almost smug – and that’s enough to warm Victor all over again. He reaches out absently, and Yuuri leans in to him. They bow into each other, kissing lazily, sated after orgasm. The sun is ducking low on the horizon and eventually they will have to get up and get food and let Makkachin outside and probably soak in the hot springs. But right now, Victor likes that he can have Yuuri just like this, just for himself. He sighs out into the kiss, drags his teeth softly over Yuuri’s bottom lip just so he can feel Yuuri shiver and gasp into his mouth. 

 

-

 

They lounge in a quiet silence before eventually Yuuri rolls his shoulders and sits up to fetch a towel for them to clean off. Victor watches him go, smiling a little to himself, cushioning his cheek against his pillow. 

Yuuri isn’t gone long, returning to Victor’s bedroom a short moment later, sinking down onto the side of the bed and reach out to brush the hair from Victor’s face. It’s a simple, understated touch – made sweeter considering the ferocity of their actions before. 

Victor smiles, feeling warm and overfull with love. He mumbles, his voice quiet and sleepy, “You like doing that…” 

Yuuri ducks his head, blushing, and starts cleaning Victor off. “Doing what?” 

Victor hums and answers, “Touching my hair.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “Sorry.” 

“No,” Victor says quickly, smiling up at Yuuri. He feels boneless and lucid, his body mush underneath Yuuri’s hands as he swipes the soft towel over his stomach, across his hips. He’s never felt so cared for in one little gesture. “I like it. It feels nice.” 

Yuuri pauses, eyes on Victor’s belly button. Then he glances up and lifts his hand, brushing softly through Victor’s hair. Victor sighs out happily and leans in towards Yuuri. 

“Yuuri,” he whines out, making a small movement of his hand – Yuuri is too far away, Yuuri is too beautiful, Yuuri is too much. 

Yuuri seems to understand what he wants, though – because he leans down into the circle of Victor’s arms and kisses him. Their kisses are sloppy at first, off-center, but lovely all the same. Victor hums and swaps kisses with him, draws him in close and holds him there. 

“Mmm,” he hums out as he nuzzles against Yuuri’s jaw, kisses at the slope of his ear. “You’re so warm.” 

He’s ready to laze away the rest of the afternoon – knows he’ll have to have Yuuri practice extra long tomorrow to make up for their truncated training day – but is ready to just cuddle with him and hold him close. It’s a nice feeling, having Yuuri nuzzle against his neck, sighing out and drawing himself closer. Victor draws the towel away and lets it fall, wrapping his arms around Yuuri instead. 

Yuuri hums and kisses the underside of Victor’s chin. Then because he is a cruel man, he asks, “Do you want to go again?” 

Victor makes a soft sound of surprise. Then laughs. “Ah – Yuuri… your stamina is… something else.” 

His voice sounds ridiculously wondered even to his own ears and Yuuri only shrugs and wriggles his hips a little, because he is a cruel, cruel man. He kisses Victor’s jaw, then the corner of his mouth. Yuuri presses against him with a soft, pleased sound when Victor turns his head and kisses him. 

He is tired, but he also doesn’t want to stop – doesn’t want to stop feeling Yuuri, doesn’t want Yuuri to stop touching him. They slot together as they kiss, and Victor shifts – drawing Yuuri on top of him before sitting up so Yuuri is in his lap. Yuuri is already half-hard and Victor once again wonders at Yuuri’s stamina – and laments his own subsequent soft cock. He is not quite so young anymore. He would hate to disappoint Yuuri. 

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, and Yuuri hums as he kisses him – slow and practiced, his teeth dragging and stealing Victor’s breath. “I want to,” he whispers, when Yuuri finally stops kissing him long enough to let Victor speak. “I just don’t want to fall asleep. You’ve tired me out.” 

Again, Yuuri looks quietly smug. It’s a lovely look on him.

“Oh,” he says and looks as if he’ll say more, except Victor leans in to kiss him. “Mm,” Yuuri hums quietly as they kiss, his hands running through Victor’s hair, down his body. His voice is low and warm, but commanding – and Victor is his to command. “You’ll have to stay awake. I won’t accept you getting bored. Talk to me.” 

Victor is flustered now, but eager – he’s soft but won’t stay soft at this rate, his hands shaking as he holds Yuuri in his lap, as Yuuri wriggles his hips a little to press against him. Demanding and commanding at once. No trace of shyness now. 

“About what?” Victor asks, eager to do as Yuuri asks. 

“Anything.” 

“You’re beautiful,” Victor answers, feels utterly soppy but so happy to be here like this, to have Yuuri in his arms. 

Now Yuuri does blush and he shakes his head. “Not that!” 

Victor laughs – helpless, overwhelmed – and Yuuri blushes. But then Victor pauses, scrambling through his brain searching for something to say that isn’t just talking about Yuuri. The way he looks, the way he sounds, the way he feels. How beautiful he is on the ice, how captivating he is, how surprising, how inspiring—

He finally settles on skating. He tells Yuuri about his favorite jumps, about how things have changed since he was a teenager to now. The entire time, he touches Yuuri and Yuuri touches him back – running his hands over him, his mouth pressed to Victor’s neck. He drags his teeth over Victor’s neck and he’ll undoubtedly leave marks. That’s enough to get Victor’s heart kicking up in anticipation. 

The flip wasn’t always his favorite jump, he tells Yuuri – and Yuuri hums, kissing him, drawing out breathless whines from Victor’s throat. 

“What was your favorite, then?” Yuuri asks, teeth nibbling at Victor’s skin. It’s utterly distracting. All Victor wants to do is sink into Yuuri like this. 

“You can’t guess?” Victor asks. 

Yuuri hums, seems to be thinking – about the answer, or about how to best get Victor to start whining, Victor isn’t sure. Yuuri mouths down his throat, swirls his tongue over his adam’s apple, slides his teeth. Victor’s cock twitches between them, stirring now. 

Yuuri is utterly distracting like this – kissing and biting over him. Victor loses his train of thought, can’t think of anything but Yuuri – Yuuri pressing against him, touching him like this. 

“The triple axel?” Yuuri finally asks and it jars Victor.

“Yes!” he gasps out as Yuuri licks at a mark he’s making on Victor’s shoulder. He laughs out, pleased, and knows he looks and sounds utterly wrecked. Yuuri wiggles his hips and it’s the end of Victor, really. He groans out, pink-faced and happy as he looks at Yuuri. 

Yuuri asks him another question but Victor is only half-listening, content to run his hands over his ribs, down his hips, to make Yuuri squirm in his laugh. He nuzzles at Yuuri’s neck, kisses sloppily up his neck, nibbles at his ear, drags his mouth across his shoulder. He’s so beautiful. He’s everything. Yuuri—

“You said you didn’t want to fall asleep, so talk to me,” Yuuri commands. Right. 

_Why?_ Yuuri had asked him before. Why the triple axel? Victor scrambles for an answer, just wants to sink into Yuuri and forget language – skating, Russian, English, Japanese, it didn’t matter—

He says something. The triple axel had been great, before when so few had been able to do it. But more and more were able to and it soon grew boring. The flip was surprising. 

Victor can point to any decision he’s made in the past with skating as wanting to surprise, wanting to shock, wanting to do the unexpected. 

“I hadn’t seen anyone else do it, really,” he concludes with a shrug, thinking of the first time he ever did a quad flip for an audience – that feeling of triumph at the flash of cameras, the gasp of the crowd, the highest personal best he’d achieved up until that point.

“I remember,” Yuuri answers, and that’s enough to get Victor’s stomach doing flips. Victor grins as he shivers, laid bare from such a simple confession, the idea of years and years ago, Victor skating on the ice and a young Yuuri Katsuki watching him miles away in Japan. He’ll never get tired of thinking of that. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” Victor confesses with a laugh. Not even Yakov knew. No one. It’s hardly a large secret – that Victor’s favorite jump could change over the years, that it could have been something other than his signature move. But there’s still something wonderful in being able to confess a true secret to Yuuri, and to have Yuuri accept it. 

Yuuri threads his fingers through his hair, cradling Victor’s head. Victor smiles at him, laughing – delighted and overwhelmed with something so sweet, so simple. Yuuri, looking at him so tenderly. Yuuri, who has always been looking at him. 

Yuuri’s hands shift so he’s cupping Victor’s face instead – kissing him. The kiss is not sweet – it is demanding and Victor moans out, kissing him back messily. He grasps at Yuuri, drags his nails down his skin. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers against his mouth, cups his hands down over Yuuri’s ass and hauls him in closer so they’re grinding together. Yuuri squeaks into the kiss and then sways his hips forward to meet him without missing a beat. Their cocks slide together.

Victor manages a breathless laugh into their kiss, breaking it only to press light kisses over Yuuri’s face, overwhelmed and feeling fizzy inside, effervescent and free. “Look at us,” he tells Yuuri, who’s frowning a little at Victor, thoughtful, “Talking about skating. You don’t think it’s silly?” 

Yuuri tilts his head as he studies Victor. Like he’s trying to memorize him or hold him in place – deep and intense and focused solely on Victor. Lesser men wouldn’t be able to handle such a look from Yuuri. Victor finds it exciting. 

Yuuri says, “I’m the one who has to picture katsudon for a routine… so I might not be a good judge on silly.” 

Victor feels warm, remembering Yuuri dancing to _Eros_ today, that change – the shift from thinking of katsudon to thinking about Victor. At least, he hopes that’s what he’d witnessed. He slides his hand over Yuuri’s back, coaxing him closer. 

He chuckles, warm and bright, so glad to have Yuuri like this now, so happy to love Yuuri – this Yuuri, any Yuuri. The Yuuri who has to picture katsudon, the Yuuri who begged him to be his coach, the Yuuri who looks at him now equal parts sweet and demanding. Yuuri. 

“It suits you,” Victor says. 

“Yeah?” Yuuri asks, petting his fingers through Victor’s hair – a delightfully soothing gesture. 

Victor’s cheeks are warm, his heart swelling as he looks at Yuuri – who looks at him so gently now, hopeful and quiet. He wonders again what Yuuri is thinking. 

“I love katsudon,” he says, quietly – looking at Yuuri. Yuuri must understand. He must. _I love you. I love you._

Yuuri’s expression shifts, softening under Victor’s gaze, his fingers skimming over Victor’s mouth. Victor smiles, just slightly, and kisses his fingertips. 

Yuuri watches him, expression soft, as Victor cups his hand and guides it down, so that Yuuri touches their cocks, and Yuuri gasps quietly, lips parting as he curls his hand around them both, strokes and twists his hand. 

Yuuri murmurs a few words to him, leans in and kisses him – light and fleeting. Then he shifts, kissing over Victor’s face – pressing light kisses, peppering over his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth, his nose. He squeezes around Victor’s cock and as Victor tips his head forward in a gasp, Yuuri presses a kiss to the crown of his head. 

Victor looks at him, then, and his heart twists up. _I love katsudon,_ he’d said and Yuuri—

Yuuri is gorgeous. He always wants Yuuri to look this happy. He wants to always see him like this. Yuuri’s smile is sweet, his eyes bright and looking at Victor. He wants him to always look so gentle and happy. 

Victor makes soft, pleased sounds as Yuuri lays waste to him, coaxing out quiet gasps, little moans. He fumbles his way through saying Yuuri’s name, scrambles to hang onto him. Moves to touch Yuuri’s cock, too. 

But Yuuri shakes his head and says, “Let me.” 

And Victor obeys him, Yuuri gripping his hand, lifting it to kiss his palm and then each fingertip, trapping him there. He whines out, breathless – this beautiful, teasing Yuuri. This breathtaking Yuuri. He wants Yuuri to always look at him like this, to always look so happy, to always look so strangely smug, poised and ready for Victor. Victor wants to always be falling into Yuuri’s orbit. 

“Talk to me,” Yuuri reminds him and the words tumble from Victor’s mouth, unnoticed words falling. They might be English. They might be Russian. He doesn’t know, is hardly listening to the words he says – focusing instead on Yuuri. He keeps talking, even as he gets closer, even as he feels his body coiling up, that burning thrum of arousal coursing through him. He won’t last. He wants to make it last. Wants it to be good for Yuuri, so good – wants to last longer than he has the last two times. Wants it to be perfect. Wants Yuuri to think he’s perfect.

“Yuuri,” he whines. “I want—” He reaches out to Yuuri, anywhere he can reach, his voice reedy and tilted high. “I want it to be good for you. I want… want it to be worth it to you.” 

He can’t put it properly to words. The rush of his orgasm approaching, toeing the edge and forcing himself back, his words shaky as he speaks. He isn’t sure how to phrase it, isn’t sure how to let the thoughts solidify between them. Wanting so much, wanting more than anything else. Wanting to keep Yuuri afterwards. Wanting to wake up and have Yuuri there. Wanting to touch and kiss every inch of Yuuri and memorize him, to know each sound and each look that Yuuri could possibly give him. Yuuri. Yuuri—

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Yuuri asks, blinking at him in surprise. 

“I know you don’t have a lot of experience with this,” Victor admits. “I want… I just don’t want you to be disappointed with – everything.” 

Yuuri frowns, tilting his head as he stares at Victor. Again, Victor feels so exposed under such an intense gaze. He’s squinting a little at Victor, his glasses safe on the bedside table, his hair all mushed up and his cheeks flushed, sweat at his temples. 

He likes this about Yuuri, how different he is in these moments than anywhere else, even on the ice, even that night in Sochi. Here, Yuuri is careful and intent, always so serious when looking at Victor. It’s like all the gazes that he’s felt Yuuri train on him rolled into one, an intense homing beacon focused only on Victor. 

It’s a little overwhelming, to be such an object of attention, of – of devotion. 

And wonderful, too. Overwhelming. He trusts Yuuri and this – this is just an extension of that. Yuuri, always watching him so carefully. Always so serious. So determined. 

Victor doesn’t know what he has with Yuuri, what they’re slowly building. But he wants it all. He wants to always feel this. Wants Yuuri to always be here, with him. Yuuri, slowly, drifting closer and closer to him, bridging the gaps between them. 

Never asking anything but for Victor to be Victor. 

“Ah,” Victor finally laughs, after another long Yuuri silence. He’s probably trying to collect the right words – if Victor understands his Yuuri silences well, and he hopes he does – but he still feels a strange trilling nervousness when the silence stretches. “How to put it… That is, I know you’ve looked up to me and—”

Yuuri freezes up, his eyes flying wide open and looking very much like a cornered animal. 

“No!” Victor protests when Yuuri ducks his head, blushing. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He reaches for Yuuri, touches at his chest, his ribs. “I mean… It’s been a while since our first night, like this. I’d hate to disappoint after so much build-up.” 

Yuuri glances up again, eyes training on Victor. And he frowns at him. 

Victor smiles back, apologetically. Yuuri’s brow furrows more. Victor is quiet this time, lets Yuuri collect his thoughts. Victor watches the way Yuuri’s expression shifts, slowly, with his thoughts. He can actually see him thinking and it’s amazing that he can watch Yuuri so openly, so close like this. 

Yuuri reaches for him and cups his cheeks, thumbs dragging across his cheekbones. It is at once anchoring and terrifying, to have Yuuri trained solely on him once more. 

Quietly: “Victor.”

Victor waits but Yuuri doesn’t speak. He prompts with a quiet, “Mm?” 

He loops his arms around Yuuri. Yuuri’s thumbs touch at his cheeks, fingers at his jaw, in his hair. He shifts in Victor’s lap, moves a little closer. Lifts himself up. Victor tilts his head to look at him. 

“I… idolized you for so long,” Yuuri tells him. “You were – always perfect to me, it seems. But I … I don’t mind this. I don’t mind—”

Yuuri flounders a little, losing his words as he watches Victor. Victor, for his part, has no idea what he’s feeling – the twist in his heart, the stampeding feeling of breathlessness. 

Everything feels suspended. Everything is aching, but the best kind of ache – several months of longing snapping into place here. Yuuri is here, touching him, looking at him. Yuuri is here. He has wanted him for so long, has dreamed of that night in Sochi, has thought too often of their night together in Hasetsu. Has thought, every waking moment, about Yuuri. 

He never wants to feel anything but this – overwhelmed and happy and in love. He wants it to be good for Yuuri. He wants Yuuri to always look at him like this. 

“So you aren’t perfect,” Yuuri says. “But I… I don’t mind that.” He touches at Victor’s chest, and he must hear his beating heart – he _must._ “I like the you I’m getting to know.” Yuuri lifts his hands, tangling them in Victor’s hair, pushing it back from his face so their eyes can lock properly. “Everything.” 

Victor’s laugh punches out of him before he can think to stop it, bubbly and genuine. That strange sense of relief again. Too much and not enough. He didn’t even think of it as a fear, not until Yuuri spoke it and it solidified in his mind. Yes. Yes. He has nothing to fear. He could drown just in the look in Yuuri’s eyes. In his arms, just like this—

“Not… not just _like_ ,” Yuuri says, quiet. Victor looks at him, tilting his head in confusion.

Yuuri bites his lip, stilling, his hands on Victor.

“I…” Yuuri pauses, bites at his lip and smoothes his thumbs over Victor’s jaw, across his bottom lip. 

Victor parts his mouth, tilts his chin back to look at Yuuri – studying his face again. Yuuri swallows, and Victor presses a small kiss to the pad of Yuuri’s thumb, encouraging. 

“I… it isn’t… I like – but I also—”

He fumbles, looks frustrated and embarrassed. No new words come and he looks desperately at Victor, face going soft and uncertain before he shifts closer, his eyes burning. 

Victor, confused, studies Yuuri’s expression. They hold each other’s gazes and it is – different from before. Yuuri’s expression is weighted, his lips parted in a desperate breath, and he looks so sure, and yet so scared. He stares at Victor, begging to be understood. 

And—

And Victor does understand. It bursts out of his heart in an instant, the stutter of breath that halts in Victor’s lungs before, quickly, a grin splits his mouth wide. 

Not just like. But—

“Oh, Yuuri!” he gasps out, and then before he can think to stop himself, he flings himself at Yuuri – and they nearly go toppling off the bed. Yuuri barks out in surprise but Victor just clings to him, hugging him tight and pressing his face into Yuuri’s neck, kissing at it sloppily before he hurls himself up to kiss Yuuri properly. 

Yuuri gasps out but kisses him back – clings with equal fervor, hands digging into his shoulders, his body bowing beneath Victor. Pressing against him. In love with him. Yes. Yes, that’s what Yuuri is trying to say, what he’s been saying with his skating, with his watching, with the slowly coming closer and closer and—

And Yuuri loves him. Victor’s sure of it. Has never understood anything as deeply as he understands this. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor says when they part for breath, hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at Yuuri, sprawled out beneath him on the bed and unbearably, undeniably lovely. Sweet Yuuri. Lovely Yuuri. This Yuuri whom he loves. Who loves him in return. 

He has never, ever loved anyone or anything like he loves Yuuri. Deeply, intrinsically, as easy as breathing. Yuuri looks up at him, memorizing him, studying him. 

Then licks his lips and touches Victor’s cheek. Victor sighs out, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, his body shivering with warmth, with happiness. 

He is never going to forget this moment. He won’t let himself. 

“Victor,” Yuuri whispers, his voice tight with emotion, and he looks just as overfull as Victor feels. Victor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s palm. “Victor,” he says again, prompting him back, looking at one another. “Let me… let me show you my love.” 

Victor is already nodding, his body ready to float away – too bright, too full of happiness like this. Yuuri pulls him back down, anchors him, and they roll over together, Yuuri on top of him – pinning him down. 

Yes, yes, like this—

Always like this, with Yuuri reaching for him, touching him, keeping him tethered. Yuuri, who loves him. Yuuri, whom he loves. 

Yuuri presses their foreheads together and Victor’s breath hushes out of him. He closes his eyes, arching up to meet Yuuri, their mouths so close – close enough to feel Yuuri’s breath, to have Yuuri this close. 

Yuuri touches their cocks then and Victor’s breath hitches up. Yuuri strokes him and he’s already shuddering, shivering apart just from this touch. Just Yuuri’s hand and he’s gone, happy and hushed and overwhelmed. Yuuri is too much – and not enough. Not nearly enough. Just like before, he wants everything at once, doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t know how to speak, how to breathe, without Yuuri there beside him. 

Victor comes, unexpectedly, spilling all over Yuuri’s hand and a soft _oh_ punches out of him as Yuuri strokes him off. Yuuri moans above him, stroking him through it as Victor buries his face against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri’s teeth at his ear and Victor can’t breathe, gasping out in small, huffing sobs as his body shakes apart. 

When he has some semblance of order, he just covers his face and groans out in a long, low whine. “Yuuri…” 

“Was it good?” Yuuri asks, and he sounds at once wondered and smug. 

“I don’t…” Victor shakes his head and drops his hands away to touch at Yuuri’s waist. “I wanted to last longer than that.” 

He is most certainly not pouting. Yuuri looks at him, calm – but gentle. 

His eyes flicker down over Victor’s stomach and chest, swipes his hand to clean up the come. Victor watches, flushed cheeks and parted lips. There is something so gentle and needy about watching Yuuri doing that. 

Yuuri looks at his hand, then – still calm. And he smiles at the mess. Victor blushes, his heart thumping. And if it were possible for him to get hard again so quickly, he would. 

Especially when Yuuri drops his hand down, slicked with Victor’s come, and starts stroking himself off. 

Yuuri says, “Keep your eyes on me?” 

“Always,” Victor breathes. 

Yuuri smiles – benevolent, kind, sweet Yuuri. Beautiful Yuuri. Commanding Yuuri, the playboy, the man at the banquet, the beautiful dancer of _Eros_ , who’s seduced Victor. He rocks his hips forward into his waiting hand, slicked with Victor’s come. 

“Victor,” Yuuri says, hushed, “Do you want me?” 

A ridiculous question, but Victor nods. “More than anything.” 

Yuuri shudders, closing his eyes as he comes. He strokes forward, hips rocking. 

“Then that’s all I need,” he manages around a groan, come across his fingers. 

“Still,” Victor protests, his hand touching Yuuri’s cheek. “I want to show you my love, too, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri’s lips part around a soft gasp and Victor feels flushed with warmth – to be understood, without a doubt. 

“You do,” Yuuri tells him, his body shivering. He looks at Victor, his eyes glassy with desire, with satisfaction – with love. “Touch me.” 

Victor goes to him then, wraps him up in his arms and kisses him all over – everywhere he can reach. Yuuri sinks against him and Victor is truly, overwhelmingly happy, kissing his sweaty cheek, nuzzling into his hair. 

“Stay here this time,” Victor tells him and Yuuri nods. 

 

-

 

After their second night together, Victor worries Yuuri will run from him again and he’ll have to wait for him to return once more. Like the tide, creeping away until it’s so far away that it’s daunting, only for it to flow back again. 

Instead, the next morning, Victor wakes up to find Yuuri there beside him, pillow creases in his cheek. He looks poised to dart, looking slightly startled – but one look at Victor’s sleep-soft face and his shoulders relax. 

Victor smiles at him and before he can bubble out the pleased _Ohayo, Yuuri!_ he’s been practicing every morning, Yuuri leans in and catches his mouth in a soft, morning-warm kiss. Victor actually gasps from pleased surprise before he manages to kiss him back. 

“Oh,” he whispers, soft, when they part. 

Yuuri gives him a tentative, wobbly smile. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” Victor stresses and leans in to kiss him again to prove it. 

 

-

 

Most nights, Yuuri follows Victor into his bedroom, presses him to the wall and kisses him. Not every night, but most. It always surprises Victor, in a way – especially after a long practice, where Yuuri should be bone-tired, falling asleep. Sometimes he is, and sometimes their nights together are slow and sleepy, Yuuri cuddling into his arms afterwards and lingering. Victor loves those nights. 

“Yuuri,” Victor gasps, every time, when Yuuri draws away from a kiss. 

And every time, Yuuri flushes. 

Tonight, he says, “No one says my name the way you do.” 

Soft and bold. Wonderful Yuuri looks up at him, his ears a little pink as he looks at Victor. Expectantly. Waiting. 

Just to test it, Victor whispers, “Yuuri.” 

Yuuri’s jaw flexes and then he smiles, eyes softening at the corners. Yuuri must understand him, must understand what he’s saying. They speak in a coded language, language barriers between them – but this, this he knows Yuuri must understand. 

Sometimes, Yuuri can be so shy. 

But in moments like this, Yuuri’s arms hooked around Victor’s shoulders, looking up at him so the moonlight glows – sometimes Victor can see the glimmers of that night of the banquet, shining back at him. But he likes this Yuuri very much. 

He loves Yuuri very much. 

 

-

 

But it moves like this, the flow of language: Victor picks up some Japanese. Yuuri punctuates some of his phrases in English on the ice with Japanese, his speaking slow and enunciated entirely for Victor’s benefit. 

And at times, too, he teaches the words back to Yuuri, the slow curl of Russian easy from his mouth – flowing in a way that English and French never have. 

And sometimes he can hear Yuuri say it, the way he looks up at Victor one morning, breakfast finished between them, and saying, “It was vkusno.” 

And Victor nearly bursting with the joy of hearing it. Reaching for Yuuri and sliding his hand down his back. Yuuri looks up at him, tilts his head up, his mouth curving into a small smile. 

Victor can’t breathe. He can’t help himself. He reaches out and cups Yuuri’s cheeks – can do nothing but kiss him. Yuuri smiles sweetly into Victor’s smiling mouth.

 

-

 

Longing never came easy to Victor. He is used to getting what he wants, he is used to working hard and achieving all his goals. 

Yuuri is here in his arms now, and he can remember longing for him over the last few months – but already it feels so far away. 

He remembers before Yuuri, too, that ache of longing – what prompted him to create _Stay Close to Me_ in the first place. 

It isn’t the same now. He can remember that feeling. And he is a natural-born performer. He can fall back into it easily, he thinks. One day at Ice Castle, while Yuuri is doing weight training and crunches in the exercise room as his warm up, Victor slips back into the choreography for _Stay Close to Me._ He figure-eights to warm up, launches himself into the quad flip and lands it flawlessly. 

He can fall back into this performance, but that’s all it is – a performance. The feelings of longing are so far away now. 

It’s the same for Yuuri, too, he realizes. Later that day, he watches Yuuri as he goes through the _Stay Close to Me_ performance, too, a tentative step towards solidifying an exhibition skate. It’s far away now and Yuuri still has hurdles to overcome before they can focus too strongly on it – namely, Yuuri’s short and long programs. 

But still. It’s a good thing, Victor knows – a good thing that Yuuri can look at him and not feel like longing in his eyes, can’t recreate the imperfection and perfection of that viral video, the way he swayed into the music, the way he’d looked so lost out there, lonely, begging for Victor to come to him. 

If anything, the utter failure to capture that sadness just makes Victor feel warm and floaty.

“Yuuri!” he calls out and Yuuri startles himself out of a spin to look at Victor. “Come here!”

Yuuri does as he requests, skating across the ice to stop at the blocks. 

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, frowning. 

“It’s all wrong,” Victor whines out, leaning his chin on his hands as he looks up at Yuuri, who looks startled at the blunt delivery. “Hmm… what should we do, what should we do.” 

“Victor…” Yuuri mutters, seeming to realize that Victor is not serious. 

“Ah, I know,” Victor hums, slipping off his skate guards and moving onto the ice, his hand skirting at Yuuri’s hip. “Here. Let me show you.” 

He places his hands on Yuuri’s hips and skates backwards, leading him out onto the ice again. It isn’t necessary – Yuuri is a quick study, and observes Victor so closely. If Victor were just to show him, Yuuri would know what to do – but like this, he can touch him.

The way Yuuri sighs and shifts back into his touch is completely wrong – if Yuuri held his center of gravity like this without Victor there, he’d come toppling down onto the ice. 

But together, like this—

For a moment, moves and choreography sway in Victor’s mind, undisclosed and disconnected, but definitely felt. It isn’t anything beyond flickering images that flash through his mind and flash back out again, nothing concrete, nothing to hold on to. 

But he can’t help but think of it, holding Yuuri like this, gliding behind him as they move along the ice together. He guides Yuuri across the ice and Yuuri follows him, eventually slipping away only to grab hold of Victor’s hand and guide him along, too, so that they move in lazy spins together. 

By the end of it, Victor is laughing and Yuuri is casting him an indulgent and gentle smile. 

“You’re really something, Yuuri,” Victor sighs out. 

Yuuri’s smile is a gentle thing, almost brittle – the kind of smile that Victor knows means Yuuri does not believe him, is discrediting himself in his thoughts. Yuuri is difficult to read, at times, but Victor thinks he is getting better at it. 

“No one will be able to take their eyes off you,” Victor says with confidence as they turn along the ice. Competition is still some months away. There is still time here, in Hasetsu – to train together, to eat their meals together, to walk Makkachin to the beach, to practice Victor’s Japanese. Still time, here, with Yuuri. 

Yuuri tilts his head, lips parting slightly – words he doesn’t say hanging heavy between them. 

“Ah,” Victor sighs. “But you only want _my_ eyes on you. Right?” 

Yuuri flushes, but does not deny it. 

Victor turns sharply along the ice, dragging Yuuri in closer, turning him in his arms, slipping into a spin with Yuuri enclosed within the circle of his arms. They spin together, unhurried. Ghosts of choreography swirls in Victor’s mind – another version of _Stay Close to Me_ , perhaps, or a new element to add to _Yuri on Ice._

Yuuri leans back into him. 

“I’m watching you. Every movement. Always.” 

Yuuri tilts his head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded, studying him. He’s beautiful like this, the flush of the cold air and exercise on his cheeks. 

Victor’s hands fall to Yuuri’s hips. “You’re amazing, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri’s smile is a fragile thing as he shakes his head, turning in his spot so he’s facing Victor properly, hands on his shoulders as they turn and spin. Now Yuuri skates backwards as he leads Victor along, looking at him – eyes soft and open with love. He doesn’t say anything, but Victor finds that there isn’t anything they really need to say. 

He can only hope that Yuuri understands – everything that Victor says, and doesn’t say. Hopes that Yuuri believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on my [tumblr.](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/)


End file.
